Whoever had killed Bird was long gone.
Faith sat down wearily in the shade of a large mountain ash and held the baby close, rocking her. Soon Zoë stopped crying and began to suck her fist contentedly. Faith started to cry.
It wasn't that she knew Bird. She had never even held a conversation with her, but the horror of it all was overwhelming. First Roger, now Bird. Could it be a coincidence? All Faith's instincts said no, but what possible motive could tie them together? She gripped the baby tightly. Poor little thing. What was going to happen to her now?
Pix was back before the police arrived. She stumbled wild-eyed out of the car.
“Faith, this can't be happening! I called John and told him, so he could break the news to Bill. They have been close friends for years, and it would be terrible for Bill to find out from the police or someone in the village. It will be terrible enough. Oh dear, why did this have to happen and why now?"
“I know. It just doesn't make any sense. In either case.”
“What do you mean `either case'?"
“Bird and Roger. They both seemed like people with relatively uncomplicated lives who were just going their own distinctive ways not hurting anyone else. And unless Bird turns out to be some runaway heiress, neither had money a murderer would have wanted. And there aren't any jealous spouses around. All the traditional murder-mystery motives."
“Aren't you forgetting Andy? He's not a spouse, but pretty close.”
Faith had forgotten Andy. Bird had been afraid of his temper, but would it drive him this far? Suddenly the unreality of sitting in the lovely landscape talking about whodunit while the very bloody corpse lay a few feet away struck Faith and she began to shiver.
“Faith, this is insane! You're still in shock. I've got to take you home."
“As soon as the police come. Remember, I've been through this before," she said grimly, "and they don't like you to leave the scene of the crime.”
Fortunately they didn't have to wait long. Sgt. Dickinson screeched up, asked where the body was, and entered the house. He was out almost immediately and went into his car. They could hear him talking on the two-way radio, but now what he said. Finally he came over and sat down next to them. He looked pale.
“Gorry." He shook his head. "Somebody must have really hated that girl. " Then he sat up straight, recollected his duty, and asked Faith to tell him what had happened. He pulled his notebook out and licked the tip of his pencil. She told him about hearing the baby crying all night and then coming over with Pix about twenty minutes ago to see if Bird needed some help. She had needed help. They were just too late.
“She was probably killed last night, if you heard the baby crying like that," Sgt. Dickinson reasoned. "You didn't hear any other sounds. Screams?" he asked hopefully.
Faith was forced to disappoint him and was tempted to add that although she was only a dumb summer person and a female at that, if she had heard screams she would have done something about it.
He asked if they knew anything about Bird. Where she was from?
“I've seen her only a few times," Pix replied. "You probably know more than I do, since she's been living here all winter. Of course Bill Fox can tell you."
“Fox?" The sergeant seemed puzzled.
Before Pix could answer, Fox himself arrived, jumping out of John Eggleston's car before it stopped. He raced to the door of the cabin and almost had it open before Sgt. Dickinson reached him.
“You can't go in there, Mr. Fox. And I don't think you want to.”
Pix and Faith, who was still carrying Zoë, hastened over. Pix put her arms around Bill, but he pushed her away roughly. He was angry.
“I have a right to see her! She was going to be my wife!" he shouted.
If the sergeant was surprised, he didn't show it, but he placed a hand on Bill's arm and led him away from the step.
“I know you want to do the right thing and that's to wait for the appropriate authorities to come with everything they need to track down who did this. We can't go in and mess things up.”
Faith was impressed by his approach. It was common sense and, as it turned out, exactly the right thing to say to Bill. "Well, I'm staying right here," he asserted.
“That's fine. I'm staying myself, and maybe you could tell me a little about your fiancée while we wait," Dickinson said in an even voice. He had appeared completely calm after that initial slip, and given the scene, Faith could hardly blame him. It was a scene she was trying desperately to obliterate from her mind with small success.
“I wonder if we could leave now, Sergeant? I can take the baby home. She must be starving and she needs changing," Faith said.
He nodded, and Bill Fox looked at Zoë. "The baby, I'd forgotten about the baby," he said dazedly.
“Come over here, Bill, and we can talk to the sergeant together." John had been standing off to one side. Now he was taking charge. Faith had trouble reading his expression. There was anger, but not sadness. Something else. Something like disgust.
She got into the car wearily and they left. The last thing they saw was Bill's face, immobile and uncomprehending.
The rest of the day was chaotic, but not immediately. Later the phone rang off the hook and they were besieged by reporters from TV and radio stations, The Ellsworth American, The Boston Herald and everything located in between.
But first it was just two women, two teenagers, and two babies to take care of. Samantha and Arlene immediately took charge of Zoë and fed, bathed, and dressed her in one of Ben's undershirts and an enormous toddler-sized Pampers. Faith fetched the auction cradle from the barn and put it by a sunny window in the living room. She placed some blankets inside and settled the exhausted child on top with a bottle, which she had discovered in the continuously amazing contents of the pantry off the kitchen.
The two girls immediately sat next to the cradle, Samantha rocking it gently while Arlene held Ben, who peered in delightedly. "Ben's baby?" he asked his mother in a beseeching tone of voice. The tone of voice he usually reserved for animal crackers.
“No, sweetheart. We're just taking care of her for a little while.”
While the police scrape what's left of her poor mother off the floor of the shack and set all the wheels in motion that may or may not find her killer, but that will certainly find the baby a home, Faith thought as her insatiable curiosity took hold once again and she began to speculate. Bill had no legal claim, but he might try to get custody. And there must be relatives somewhere. Then there was Andy, but he didn't seem the paternal type.
Faith and Pix sat down next to each other on the sofa at the opposite end of the room. Faith looked at Pix and nodded at the scene around the cradle.
“Callous youth," murmured Pix. "They're happy to have a live doll to play with."
“They didn't know Bird, so it's understandable," Faith pointed out. "It's not like Roger." She realized that she felt sad, but the sadness was totally eclipsed by the horror she had witnessed, and it was hard to connect the blood-stained room and scarcely identifiable corpse with a real person.
“You have to call Tom, Faith," Pix admonished.
“I know. I've been avoiding it. But it will be worse if he reads about it in the papers or hears it on the news.”
She glanced at the cheerful faces by the cradle and went into the kitchen to the phone. It was just after lunchtime and she might catch him. She did.