Faith's own family had tended toward less strenuous fetes, such as taking the children to the tree at the Metropolitan Museum of Art or shopping for Easter dresses at Altman's, fol owed by lunch in the store's Charleston Gardens restaurant. Pix wasn't sure what her own family did al those years, because they were much too busy.
“Maybe you can come up the fol owing weekend."
Things should certainly be sewn up by then, which brought her back to the quilts.
“I told you the quilt I bought is a fake, right?"
“No, but I know you've suspected as much. Have you heard about the one found with Mitchel Pierce's body?"
“No, Earl hasn't said anything. They'l probably send the one around Addie to Augusta for testing, too.
By the way, the Bainbridges sold Mitch a lot of antiques, things they thought were worthless, although I'm sure they were anything but. Maybe Addie discovered that she had been swindled, but that would mean she'd be angry at Mitch, not somebody at her. But she might have had a reason for wanting him dead, except I can't imagine her kil ing him. In fact, it would have been a physical impossibility for her to transport his body, let alone dispose of him in the first place."
“Could the sister-in-law have helped?”
Pix was stunned. "Rebecca! God, no. I don't think she even swats flies."
“I think what you need to do is sit down and make some of your lists. You're so good at that. You know the kind they do in al those British detective stories. There's got to be some link you're missing.”
Pix had been thinking al morning that she hadn't exactly been bringing the organizational skil s that propel ed her to the fore of every cause in Aleford to bear on this situation. It wasn't just making some lists, although that might help. She planned to sit her daughter down as soon as she came home and find out what she knew. And the same with Mother. It wasn't going to be easy, but somebody had to do it.
“I'm going antiquing again," she told Faith, ful of plans and energy now. "Maybe Jil wil come along. I want to find out if there are any more of those quilts around. Perhaps the police can trace them. We'l go up toward Bar Harbor—
and Sul ivan."
“That's where Mitch was living, right?"
“Yes. Maybe I should talk to his landlady. I could pretend I was looking for a place for a friend to stay.”
Pix was learning fast, Faith realized with a twinge. If she wanted to be any part of this, she'd have to get up to Sanpere as soon as possible. Damn the Fairchild fun and games, she thought guiltily.
Looking out the window over her struggling squash vines to the imperturbable line of firs beyond, Pix wished life on Sanpere would return to normal. She told Faith about the paint on the sails, adding, "And don't say a word about red sails in the sunset."
“It never crossed my mind," Faith lied. "It's more red and white, though”
Pix hadn't thought of that. Things were becoming more complicated by the minute.
Amy was waking up. Faith heard soft little coos that would soon become bel ows of rage. She told Pix, who remembered the scenario al too wel .
“Cal me as soon as you find out anything more"
“I wil ," Pix promised. "Oh, one last thing." She couldn't hear the baby yet, so Faith had a few seconds more. "Jil and Earl have apparently split up and Jil has been going around with Seth Marshal ."
“That's a surprise. Seth is al right, but he's not what I would cal husband material. Who left whom?"
“Jil , according to Earl, and he's as puzzled about it as I am. Jil is very touchy this summer. I haven't felt that I could ask her what's going on."
“Definitely invite her to go on your little jaunt”
Pix laughed and suddenly perversely wished Faith were on Sanpere.
“Talk to you soon."
“Bye-bye”
As soon as she put the phone back in the cradle—it was an old black dial phone that 'no one wanted replaced
—she remembered she had completely forgotten to tel Faith that Seth had planned to pour the foundation today.
Maybe she'd go over there with Samantha before dinner. At the moment, she wanted to get to work. She felt more like her old self now that she had a plan. The tire swing was receding into memory.
She couldn't talk to Mother so long as Rebecca was there, but she should cal to check in. Gert answered. Her mother was napping and Rebecca was sleeping, too. Earl had sent Dr. Harvey from the Medical Center over and he had given her a mild tranquilizer. The police had roped off the Bainbridges' house and the guests had moved on, leaving addresses, except for Norman, who was now staying at the Inn. Norman. It occurred to Pix that he probably would have given his eyeteeth for some of the rubbish the Bainbridges had disposed of so blithely last fal .
She wondered why Addie had gotten it into her mind to clear things out then—intimations of mortality, or simply wanting a heavier purse? And for what? She made quite a bit of money with her quilts and it wasn't as if she was a lavish spender. If she'd traveled as far as El sworth in the last ten years, Pix would be surprised, so Paris or cruises to the Caribbean were not the incentive.
The last thing Gert told her was that Addie's body had been taken away for the autopsy and the police hoped to be able to release it for a funeral by Saturday or Monday at the latest.
It was horrible to think about. Pix went into the kitchen and made herself a tuna-fish sandwich, taking the time to toast the bread. She grabbed a pad of paper, poured some milk, and went out on the deck to get to work.
Samantha came home just as she got to the fourth heading for the columns she'd neatly folded: "Suspects."
The others were "Who Benefits?"; "Causes of Death"; and
"Quilts."
“I'm out here on the deck," Pix cal ed. "Come join me.
There's tuna fish if you want a sandwich.”
Samantha came directly.
“Wel , wasn't it fabulous?”
Pix was tempted to tease her daughter and ask what was fabulous, but obviously the subject was too important.
“Fabulous is exactly the right word," she told her, "and I was even a little jealous. The view is spectacular and the house is in exactly the right spot"
“ À little jealous,' the view! Oh, Mother, what about the fireplace, the furniture, and that rug! Valerie had it woven to order when she couldn't find one the right size with the colors she wanted.”
Pix remembered the rug. It went from dark to light blue, with every possibility in between. It looked like the sea and the sky in every conceivable light. But what she wanted to do now was talk to her daughter about what she wasn't tel ing dear old Mom, not discuss Grecian versus Roman shades or any of the other fine points of interior decorating.
She decided to be direct; besides, she couldn't think of another way.
“You started to say something about Duncan at the camp and told me you'd explain later. It's later now”
Samantha saw the look in her mother's eye and knew she meant business. Any attempt at avoidance would mean being nagged for days. It was best to get it over with. She plopped down in one of the canvas sling chairs from the fifties that her grandmother had happily donated and told her mother everything about Duncan, starting with the conversation in the woods during the clambake.
Pix was aghast. "The boy is clearly disturbed. He needs help. We have got to tel his parents"
“Mom, Arlene says they've taken him to a mil ion shrinks. I'm sure they know he's got problems. I mean, look at the way he treats them."
“But I doubt they're aware of his `club.' " Pix was torn.
She real y didn't know what to do. Jim Atherton's response had been so harsh. She hated to think she might be responsible for the boy's being struck again—or sent to the military school, which appeared to be the next course of action. And she real y wasn't acquainted wel enough with Valerie to gauge her reaction. John Eggelston had come to Duncan's defense. Maybe the best thing would be to talk to him.