“Maybe whoever it was wanted to make sure he was well and truly dead."
“Oh, he would have been truly dead with one at least—the one in his throat—right through the trachea to the spine, according to the M.E.'s quick and dirty first look. I haven't heard about the other one in the chest yet. Two knives may have been insurance or—"
“It could have been two people!" Faith exclaimed excitedly. "Like what was it, Murder on the Orient Express?"
“As I was saying, it could have been insurance, maybe two people, which is getting pretty exotic, or some kind of message—like that damn rose you found the last time."
“Was there anything special about the knives? They looked like the kind hunters use to skin their prey."
“Among other uses, yes. Puma knives—available in every Army-Navy store from here to California. Don't suppose you have any more waffles?"
“No, but I can make some more, or I have some walnut bread."
“Jam?”
Faith brought the whole loaf to the table with butter and a full jar of Have Faith damson preserves. It was easier.
John sliced off a piece and slathered it with jam and butter.
“They were all there, you know."
“Who?"
“The family. Donald came over to check on things after he'd finished at the hospital. Had a patient in bad shape. Charmaine didn't want to be alone. In case the lights went out, she said. Once they were there, they decided to spend the night. Stayed in what used to be Donald's old room on the third floor and is always kept available for him."
“Did they know I was in the guest room?"
“Muriel said she had heard something about it, but the rest said no. Mrs. Pendergast thought you were staying on the other side of the house near the Cabots." He ate his bread in a ruminative manner. Faith was reminded of a cow. A whole herd of cows. "You know, what makes it tough is that there were so many people around. Usually someone gets killed in less crowded circumstances.”
It was true. There was an embarrassment of suspects.
“What about the towel? Did you find it? Was there blood on it?"
“Yeah, we found a bloody towel—five of them to be exact, mixed in with a couple of hundred others in the basement the laundry didn't pick up because of the weather. The lab will go over them, but I doubt they'll come up with much since they were with all the others and any hairs or whatever could have come from others on top of them. Not the kind of evidence the DA shouts hallelujah about. Anyway, if one matches Russell's blood type, we'll have something.”
Faith was disappointed. She'd considered the towel one of her contributions to the case and pictured it hanging on somebody's towel rack or stuffed at the bottom of a closet.
“Still, those might not be the right towels," she reminded him.
“Don't worry, we haven't stopped looking." Tom came in.
“Ben's watching 'Shining Time Station.' I get a shock every time I see Ringo Starr in that train conductor's uniform and about five inches tall, but then Ben didn't know him when. What about it—have you two solved this thing?" He sat down and sliced himself some bread.
“Not yet," John replied.
“And not 'you two.' I shouldn't have said that. As you know, my wife seems to have developed an unaccountable affinity for murder—investigations, that is—since we've been married. I like to think it's chance and not boredom."
“Probably both," Faith retorted, a bit put out at being discussed in absentia while sitting there.
John Dunne was looking slightly embarrassed. "Actually, Tom, one of the things r came to discusswith you and Faith was 'us two.' You see, Faith is in a position to hear a great deal. I am absolutely convinced she is in no danger, otherwise I would never suggest this. You know that. And we'll give her a wire if she likes. Everything to keep her safe and sound. But we'd like her to go back on Monday and keep her ears and eyes open. Nothing else." He looked pointedly at Faith. "We don't have much of a handle on this one, and though I hate to admit it, we need her help." The last words were dragged from him.
Tom looked incredulous—at the proposal, Dunne's admission, or both.
Faith looked thrilled.
She was going undercover.
Seven
Faith sat staring into the flame of the fourth Advent candle on the wreath. Next Sunday would be Christmas. She turned to look at the rear of the church as the choir started to sing "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel." Cyle was absent, and she didn't think it was her imagination that the faces in the loft were a bit more beatific than usual. Tom's was. He'd been in a good mood ever since Cyle had called early that morning to announce a slight cold, nothing serious. She looked back at the candles. The Alliance had embroidered a special Christmas altar cloth many years ago, and the gold threads glowed against the rose silk in the soft light. Ropes of pine twined around large pots of white cyclamen on either side of the altar. Christmas was indeed coming.
But first there was work to do. And she didn't mean last-minute shopping. After Dunne's invitation, she'd been delighted. They'd be a team. Then his next words had quickly dispelled any thoughts of Tommy and Tuppence or Nick and Nora. Watson was what he had in mind.
“Only for a day or two and only what comes your way. We'll handle the rest. We don't want you going around asking questions or opening up people's private file cabinets in the middle of the night.”
They'd talked some more. Tom was resigned and Faith felt like a woman with a mission. She'd dug out a notebook, sharpened a pencil, and gone over to Pix's, but learned nothing more than she had on Thursday. Pix was full of questions, though, not having heard about the murder. It was while talking to Pix that Faith first felt sorry for Eddie. She'd been so busy speculating, she hadn't given much thought to the victim. He'd been a lecherous creep, maybe worse, but he'd been young, full of life. She pictured him stretched out on the bed, waiting. She knew what it was he anticipated and it certainly wasn't death.
As though in answer to her inward musings, Robert Moore, today's lector, began to read the epistle from I Corinthians. Faith listened carefully and, when he got to the section about judgment, took special notice. It was a lesson she had been trying to learn for most of her life.
Therefore judge nothing before the time, until the Lord come, who both will bring to light the hidden things of darkness, and will make manifest the counsels of the hearts: and then shall every man have praise of God.
One of the Sunday-school children read the second lesson from Mark remarkably well, and the service moved on to Tom's sermon. Faith gave him almost her full attention, wiping all thoughts of Hubbard House from her mind but occasionally straying to her gift and food shopping lists. Tom had wanted to give Ben trains—electric trains. Real trains. Faith had persuaded him to consider Brio wooden ones as more age-appropriate—for Ben, that is. She still had to pick them up. And order her goose from Savenor's market. She was startled as everyone stood for the final hymn and quickly joined the singing: "Veiled in darkness Judah lay, Waiting for the promised day....”
Back at the parsonage they ate a hasty lunch and Tom left to pay some calls. He was concerned about some of the elderly parishioners who hadn't been able to get to church because of the weather. Faith draped Benjamin in an apron, and the two set about making gingerbread dough. They were soon covered with flour despite the precautions, and Faith was enjoining Ben to stop eating the dough—"immediately!" He laughed mischievously and prepared to dip his finger in again. The room smelled like cinnamon and ginger. Yuletide smells. They were making the cookies to hang on the tree with bright red ribbons. If Ben keptsnatching at the bowl, the branches were going to look a little sparse.