The person emerging as a distinct possibility was not with them. She'd tried to sit through Alden's funeral rites and couldn't. Still, she hadn't been able to stay home. Faith wished Tom weren't doing such a good job and would speed things up a bit. She wanted to talk to Audrey. Audrey, who just happened to bump a table, sending an urn of hot coffee Alden's way. Audrey, who had publicly declared that if Alden thought he was going to win the election, he was dead wrong.
And he was.
In the end, Faith knew better than to skip the Garrisons' postfuneral gathering. The congregation might think she was neglecting her husband's duties. Once again, John Dunne and Charley Maclsaac were in attendance. They must be seeing a great deal of each other lately, she thought. Their friendship, dating back to Faith's own maiden voyage on the waters of detection, seemed to have increased markedly during subsequent investigations. They were sitting side by side in two chairs by the picture window in the Garrisons' 1950s split-level, which was not the one remodeled on "This Old House" Dunne's head was slightly inclined toward Charley, who seemed to be regaling him with the life histories of everyone in the room. Charley had a tumblerful of something other than fruit juice and Dunne was drinking coffee. A plate stacked high with spongy white-bread finger sandwiches sat on a table between them. The mound was steadily diminishing as each man systematically reached for another as soon as one passed his lips. They reminded Faith of Ben's book Frog and Toad Are Friends. The moment they saw her, they both rose. To save them the trouble—and because they looked so quaint, if that was indeed the right word—she went over and pulled up a chair.
She figured she could circle the room, thank the Garrisons, whisper something in Tom's ear, and be out in fifteen minutes. She'd kept her coat on, the black one, but unbuttoned it, revealing a dark gray Nipon suit. However, first she knew what was coming.
“We understand you've been getting some interesting mail lately," John said between mouthfuls.
Charley gave her a baleful look. "Come on, Faith, the stamp wasn't even canceled. How did you get that letter?"
“I suppose it must have been delivered by hand. We were certainly relieved to learn Penny was all right." She crossed her legs, considered a sandwich, and then came to her senses.
“I don't think the lady is telling us everything, Charley. Remind me of this the next time she wants to know something like whose fingerprints we found on the light switch in the Town Hall's basement.”
He was so unfair. Maybe she could get Dale Warren to unwittingly spill the beans, because she wasn't going to—no matter what incentives they posed to reveal Penny's whereabouts.
“Why is it so important that you find Penny? She didn't murder Alden.”
Charley and John exchanged glances. She was beginning to think they'd rehearsed the routine.
“How do we know when we can't talk to her?" Charley pointed out reasonably.
“Because you know Penny, even if John doesn't!" Faith retorted.
“Why did she run off?”
Dunne almost got her. She stood up. It was time to go. "Mrs. Bartlett probably thought you'd arrest her and the real killer would remain at large.”
So there.
They watched her work her way through the crowd. "I'll have Sully put a tail on her."
“Good idea. Want some more sandwiches?”
It was an hour before Faith pulled into the Heunemans' sloping driveway in the Crescent Hill section of town. Amy needed changing and Faith had decided to also. The suit was a little severe. She stocked the diaper bag with toys, and the Snugli, in case Amy could be convinced to nestle quietly against her mother. She buckled her daughter securely into her car seat and received a cheerful smile for her troubles. "Amy,”
“beloved"—the name had been a good choice.
Faith was feeling cheerful. Much to her delight, she'd managed to get Dale to give her the information John and Charley had dangled tantalizingly in front of her. She'd called the station immediately upon her return and, as she hoped, he was the only one around. Charley was still savoring the feast at the Garrisons'. "Oh dear:' Faith had said, "I think he wanted to get my fingerprints again—to eliminate them from the ones on the basement light switch."
“I don't think so, Mrs. Fairchild," Dale had reassuredher. "We didn't find any prints on the switch. In fact, we haven't found any prints anywhere they should be. It was all wiped clean. Don't worry about it." Faith had thanked him profusely. Such a nice boy.
Crescent Hill had been the brainchild of a group of Cambridge architects about thirty years earlier. They'd purchased the large tract of land collectively and created a small community of unique houses, complete with a shared pool and park. Over the years, the group had gone on to greater fame and fortune. The houses were highly prized—not by people of Millicent's ilk but by everyone else. Most sold through word of mouth before they even reached the market. They were set far apart and now that the landscaping had matured, it was hard to see them from the road.
Faith located the Heunemans, by the name on the mailbox, turned up the drive, and parked in the carport. The house had a dramatic glassed-in entryway on one side, next to a small pond stocked with goldfish in the summer. The sun had burst through the clouds shortly after the funeral, and passing from the cold of March into the warmth of this solarium made Faith regret the lack of such an amenity at the parsonage. She rang the bell.
f Audrey was surprised to see Faith at her door, she did not show it. She asked her in, duly admiring the baby. James was nowhere in sight and had apparently returned to work.
Faith refused an offer of coffee. She sometimes felt she was swimming in it in Aleford, and it was never espresso. Somewhat awkwardly, she sat down on part of the large sectional sofa in the second-floor living room, which overlooked the yard, and unzipped Amy's snowsuit.
“I think I know why you left the service so suddenly this morning," she began.
Two bright red spots appeared on both of Audrey's cheeks. "It's really not something I care to discuss.”
Faith felt she had to continue. She knew Penny would agree.
“I don't mean to push you into talking about anything you don't wish to, but I think in this case, it might make you feel better.”
Audrey started to interrupt.
“No, please, let me tell you what I came to say and then you can do whatever you want. I have learned a great deal about Alden Spaulding since his death, and there is no question that he was a very disturbed individual, especially sexually.”
Audrey breathed in sharply. She looked alarmed.
“He tried to molest his own half sister, Penny, when she was a child. She didn't tell anyone until she got married and her husband confronted Alden, who denied it. The Bartletts thought their warning, and surveillance, would prevent any other attacks. But I don't think they were right."
“No," Audrey said softly, "they weren't?' Holding Amy on her lap, Faith moved closer to Audrey. The woman started to sob uncontrollably and Faith put an arm around her. The tears were streaming down Faith's cheeks, as well. It was only when the bewildered baby began to add her own cries that the two women pulled apart and Audrey, taking a tissue from her pocket, said, "You may not want any, but I have to have some coffee—or something else.”
In the kitchen, with Amy comfortably ensconced in her mother's lap, daintily devouring the Cheerios Audrey had spread in front of her, Faith felt enormouslyangry—angry that she had attended this man's funeral; angry that she had been correct.
Audrey sat with her hands around a mug from Disney World. Her kids would be home from school soon, so she'd decided to go with coffee.