“Then Samantha and I wil be going. I'd like to get her home." And into her nice secure little bed with a cup of chamomile tea, she thought.
“I'l take you," Freeman offered. Seth looked a bit lost and said he'd stick around to keep Earl company until the staties showed up.
“No, you go along, too. We know how to get a hold of you if we need you," Earl said. Effectively dismissed, Seth mumbled what could have been a good-bye and roared off in the pickup.
“Needs a new muffler," Freeman commented.
Earl nodded and Pix half-expected him to take out his notebook and make an entry, but most of the pickups on the island needed new mufflers. It wasn't considered a citable offense, unless you were caught drag racing on the old cemetery road in Granvil e, a road so blackened by burned rubber that local y it was cal ed "the speedway.”
So they went their separate paths to spend the afternoon trying not to think about what was uppermost in their thoughts: Who was the body in the Fairchilds'
basement—and who had put it there?
* * *
The dead man turned out to be Mitchel Pierce. While not exactly an island resident, he was not unknown on Sanpere, having spent time living there off and on while he was working at his purported craft: the restoration of old houses. But Mitchel also lived al along the coast from Camden past Bar Harbor, depending on where he was working. And to complicate matters stil further, he was known to disappear for months at a time, purportedly (again) to the Pacific Northwest. Purport, in various forms, was a word that turned up often in conversations about Mitch. In addition to his restoration work, he dabbled in antiques, buying and sel ing. In fact, he bought and sold almost anything from Mercedes coupes to odd lots of canned goods. He was a man who lived by his wits and it was a wel -known fact that these wits often took him close to the law. Provenance was something that Mitch defined broadly, as it suited his own needs. An exquisite piece of folk art could have been made in 1890 or 1990. What mattered, Mitch was quick to point out to his detractors, was that it was exquisite.
In another era, Mitch might have sold snake oil, and the pitch he made to new purchasers of old houses was not unlike the slippery patter of his antecedents. His charm was hard to resist and levelheaded Boston businessmen found themselves uncharacteristical y turning their houses and charge accounts at Barton's Lumber over to Mitch so he might bring the dwel ing back to its pristine glory. Mitch got free rent and free rein. Sometimes the customers were satisfied. Mitch did know what he was doing. And sometimes they returned in the spring to find neither hide nor hair of him, their pipes burst, and an astronomical bil waiting at Barton's. Stil , he kept getting jobs.
It wasn't that he was particularly good-looking. Short, with a wide widow's peak, the adjacent bald patches threatening to spread back across the dome of his head, he'd developed a paunch at thirty; now at forty, it could be described less kindly. He had an impish grin, an infectious laugh, took no one, including himself, seriously, and was wonderful company.
He'd done some work on The Pines a few years ago and Ursula stood over him the whole time. He'd expected nothing less and they parted friends, but Pix hadn't fal en under his sway. She didn't trust him—not on her tintype, and especial y not on his.
It was Mother who cal ed to reveal who the dead man was, of course.
Ursula was miffed that Pix hadn't informed her immediately about her grisly find, but Pix had always been a good little girl. So when Earl told her to keep her mouth shut, she took it as a sacred trust.
“But certainly you could have said something to your own mother!"
“I didn't even tel Sam. Now, of course, I can, since everyone seems to know even more than I do and I found him." Pix often found being good didn't shower one with the rewards implicitly promised.
“Why don't you come over here for tea and we'l talk about it. How is Samantha?"
“She slept when we came back and seems fine now.
Arlene and her boyfriend asked her to go to the movies in El sworth and that should take her mind off it. And it wil help when she knows who it was. I doubt she ever met him. If it had been someone she knew, that would have been worse."
“Al right, then. When she leaves, you come on over."
Pix agreed and hung up. She real y ought to cal Sam now and most certainly should cal the Fairchilds. Tom was probably out on parish business. Maybe it would be better if they were both together and she could tel Sam at the same time, because the first thing he'd do after hanging up would be to run next door. Besides, her mother might have picked up some more things and Pix would have further information for them. She'd wait until she came back.
Feeling like the abject coward she knew herself to be, she waved good-bye to Samantha, whose color was back, and set off for tea and maybe sympathy.
The tea tray was on the front porch and her mother was waiting. The family took as many meals outside as the weather and time of day permitted. None of the Rowes liked to be indoors when they could be enjoying the view and the air up close.
“It must have been terribly upsetting for you, darling,"
Ursula said, taking Pix's hand in both of her own.
“It was." Pix sat down in one of the wicker chairs that they had never thought to cushion. The latticework that appeared on the back of one's legs when one was wearing shorts was a kind of badge of authenticity. "I was mostly worried about Samantha. But she seems to be al right, even a little excited. None of her friends have ever found a body," Pix added with a slight grimace.
“A dubious distinction at best, but I'm glad she is not upset. The whole thing is puzzling, though. Who on earth would want to kil Mitchel ? He was always a complete gentleman when he was here, although I know others have not been so fortunate in their dealings with him. He did a beautiful job removing al that dry rot in the back addition. I'd hoped he would be able to repair the latticework on the porches this summer. I suppose it's too late now."
“Much too late, Mother. The man is dead."
“I know, dear. I told you, remember.”
Pix did.
“I hope the Fairchilds weren't too disturbed by al this.
It's not the way one likes to start a new house."
“I haven't reached them yet." Pix skirted the truth. "But I don't think they'l be too upset. It just happened to be their basement. It could have been anybody's—and they didn't know him."
“This business of wrapping him in a quilt ... such an odd thing to do. What was the pattern?”
Pix was amazed there was something her mother didn't know.
“It was a red-and-white Drunkard's Path—very nicely done, tiny hand stitching. It looked old. Although, I couldn't see much of it." And there were those bloodstains obscuring the work. Pix gagged on her tea and her mother had to pound her vigorously on the back before she stopped coughing.
“Wel , whoever did kil him must be an exceptional y nasty person."
“I think we can assume that," Pix said.
“No, besides being evil. Drunkard's Path—it's just plain nasty to cal attention to Mitchel 's drinking problem.
He'd been fighting it for years”
Ursula must have grown very close to Mitchel over the dry rot, Pix speculated. There didn't appear to be much she didn't know about the man. No reason not to take advantage of Mother's winning ways.
“Did he have a family? I never heard that he was married."
“No, he never married. I don't think he was real y very interested in women—or men. Just things. He definitely liked things, especial y beautiful and valuable things. Of course he must have had a mother and father, but he never spoke of them—or any brothers or sisters. He did mention that he grew up in Rhode Island, though."
“We should tel Earl that. It might be a lead."