“Faith, this is amazing. What made you think about checking on Norman?"
“You kept saying something wasn't quite right about him, and I trust your impressions absolutely."
“I'l let Earl know right away. Obviously Norman Osgood is an alias. If they can find out who he real y is, we may have found the link between the two murders." And the murderer. She couldn't bring herself to say it out loud, even to Faith. The murderer? He'd been sitting on her blanket watching fireworks two nights ago.
“So, you actual y think Adelaide was murdered?" Faith asked.
“Yes, and what's more, so does Mother."
“No question, then" Faith sighed. She knew how Pix and the whole Mil er-Rowe clan felt about Sanpere Island, and now it would never again be the unsul ied Eden it had been.
Pix told Faith about her trip to Sul ivan and what she'd found at Jil 's.
“I can't see Jil being involved in this—fake antiques, murder. Besides, she was close to the Bainbridges, wasn't she? And isn't she in that sewing group of your mother's? I believe it's an unwritten law in these societies that one lady does not bump another off."
“It does seem improbable, but I saw the quilt with my own eyes, and she has been behaving strangely this summer."
“True, if you're engaged in any sort of criminal activity, the last person you want for a fiancé is a cop.”
They talked a bit more, particularly about the possibility that Mitch and Norman, or whoever he was, had been in business together.
“Al those buying trips Norman made off the island—
maybe he was meeting Mitch. And staying with the Bainbridges—that could have been to swindle them out of more things. Addie must have found out something. Oh dear, it's too dreadful to think about."
“Forget the Fairchilds and their traditions! I'm coming up this weekend!" Faith felt she belonged with her friend—
and besides, things were heating up.
“No, you go. Plan to come up the fol owing one. Arnie and Claire wil be here by then and I'm giving a party for them.”
Faith correctly sensed that Pix was more thrown by the idea of cooking for the party than solving any multitude of crimes.
“If you change your mind, cal . We won't be leaving the house until ten."
“I wil —and have fun."
“Fun is not the word we're looking for here, but I'l have something. Mosquito bites and sunburn maybe." They laughed and said good-bye.
Pix had to cut some burned edges off the pizza and it was pretty crusty. She'd completely forgotten about it while talking to Faith. It tasted fine with the scotch she'd retrieved from the lawn, only one smal ant having invaded the alcohol. She might not be hitting al the food groups, but it was exactly the kind of supper she wanted.
Afterward, she cleaned up, taking a mere merciful three minutes, and cal ed Earl. He wasn't around, so she left a short message for him on the office machine to cal her back, which he did an hour later. He did not seem unduly surprised at the news she had uncovered about Norman. Maybe he was getting used to having her for a partner, she thought somewhat smugly. Wel , Faith had John Dunne, a detective lieutenant with the Massachusetts State Police.
She went to bed early and tried to read while she waited for Samantha. So, Norman Osgood wasn't an antiques dealer and might not be Norman Osgood, either.
Who and what was he?
Samantha and Arlene had gone to the early movie and at nine o'clock found themselves in a booth at the new pizza restaurant near the cannery, consuming a large pie with everything on it but anchovies.
“Who eats those things? Why do they even bother putting them on the menu?" Arlene asked.
“My father loves them," Samantha said, making an appropriate face. "He says our tastes are not as refined as his"
“Yuck!" Arlene popped a stray piece of pepperoni in her mouth. It had taken her a few years to work up a taste for that.
“What do you want to do? When do you have to get the car back to Fred?"
“I'm supposed to pick him up at his cousin's around ten-thirty. He's going to be ready to leave, I'm sure. They've been working since early afternoon”
The girls gave their ful attention to the food before them for a moment. It was disappearing fast.
“It's great having a place where you can get real pizza on the island. Gives us somewhere to go, too”
The restaurant was jammed and the crowd at the door was eyeing their booth longingly—and in some cases, aggressively.
“Let's go," Samantha said after catching one particularly beady eye.
“Yeah, I'l take the rest for Fred in case he's hungry, although his aunt and mother sent over enough food for an army.”
They got in the car and Arlene started the engine. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she said to Samantha.
“Wil Fred be mad if we go without him?"
“No, I told him we might. He just wants to know what's in the trunk. He doesn't care if he's there or not. I don't think he likes to go into the cabin, anyway. He told me if he sees the stuff Duncan has around again, he might be tempted to smash it to pieces."
“Maybe it's better he doesn't come, then.”
Arlene turned the car down Main Street and drove up the steep hil by the old Opera House, where the movies were shown now. In an earlier era when Granvil e had been a boomtown because of the granite quarries and fishing industry, Nel ie Melba and other stars had tread the boards.
They parked the car by the side of the road again and made their way to the cabin with no difficulty. It was dark.
Fred had left his flashlight in the glove compartment. With it to guide them, they went back up the tumbled-down stairs and pushed open the door. It was much as before—the bed mussed, some dirty clothes in the corner, the candles placed about. Samantha had come armed with several bobby pins.
“I'l try to open it and you stand guard”
She directed the beam of light on the lock and wiggled the bobby pin around, trying to press down on the catch.
The first pin snapped and she tried another with greater success.
“It's open!”
Arlene came quickly to her side and they raised the lid slowly.
A heavy smel of incense made Samantha sneeze.
The black robe was on top and they lifted it away apprehensively. Underneath were some books, magazines, and several large photograph albums. There were also more clothes.
“This is real y weird. Why would he keep his clothes locked up?”
Samantha thought she knew why and she found she had a lump in her throat.
“These aren't his clothes. They're his father's. Look at this Nautica sailing jacket. It would be huge on Duncan.”
At the bottom of the trunk was a box with a man's watch, some cuff links, and a bunch of birthday cards—al from Duncan to Dad.
“And the albums are probably ful of pictures of him,"
Arlene said. "I can't believe it, but I'm actual y feeling sorry for the creep.”
The albums did have pictures, starting with Duncan as a baby and his young parents, smiling and looking straight into the camera with the confidence they would al live forever that a moment like this brings.
“Let's put it back. It's too sad."
“Sssh," Arlene said, and grabbed the flashlight, clicking it off.
Samantha heard it, too. Someone had jumped off the porch and was running into the woods.
They went to the window, but al they could see were some tiny red flashing lights disappearing into the darkness.
“Let's get out of here before he comes back!”
They hastily put the things into the trunk, trying to remember exactly where everything had been. Some of the books were about the supernatural, but the magazines were mostly back issues of Hustler. As Arlene refolded what must have been Mr. Cowley's gown from some graduation, something fel from the pocket and onto the floor with a clunk. Samantha trained the light on it.