“They had it with them, all wrapped up in a plastic bag. It was a small hatchet and there was no doubt it was Bill's. Had his initials on a little brass plate. His mother and brother had given him a fancy set of garden tools last Christmas. He thought it was sweet of them, but he liked his old ones best and I doubt he ever used these.”
Faith flashed back to the blood-stained shack. Hearing about the weapon added the final touch of horror to the scene. It had not been an easy death.
Pix rushed in the back door, followed by Tom. She put her arms around Louise. "How could they possibly think Bill had anything to do with this? He adored her.”
Elliot spoke. "I'm afraid that's what they think the motive is. They confronted him with the drill and the corks, and I think they're going to charge him with Roger's death. I imagine they think he killed Roger so he could have Bird."
“Even admitting that, which I don't," Pix said, "we still come back to Bird. Why destroy the one thing you love?”
You might have to, thought Faith, if she had somehow discovered the earlier deed. Or she might have decided to go back to Andy and wasn't in the cabin packing, but there to stay. She decided it was neither the time nor the place to air these opinions. And it was Bill Fox they were talking about. The man who had created the gentle world of Selega couldn't have done either of these murders. It just didn't feel right, and Faith was a great believer in hunches.
“I called Sam and he's going to try to find out what's going on in Ellsworth. He has a lawyer friend who summers in Blue Hill, and he's going to ask him to go straight over. Sam won't be able to get away himself until later in the week, unfortunately, but we're to call if we need him and he'll drop everything. He's fairly certain they won't charge Bill now. It's all pretty circumstantial." Pix was starting to run on and on. Tom interrupted.
“I don't know Bill Fox, but if you'd like me to come to the jail with you, I'd be happy to be of help," he told the Fraziers.
“That would be wonderful. We really would like someone to come along with us, and I have the feeling you are the perfect choice," Elliot said.
Faith thought so too. Calm, unobtrusive, firm. That was her Tom.
“Oh, dear, we should tell John. He'll probably want to come too," Louise remembered.
“Would you like me to tell him on my way back?" Faith offered.
“That would be a big help, because we should be leaving, and in any case, I hate to break news like this over the phone—not to mention our party line. It will be all over the island soon enough. Poor Bill. He came here for privacy, and now it looks like that will be at an end for some time.”
Pix followed the Fraziers out the front door. She was going along too. Tom and Faith lingered on the porch a moment."I know," said Faith. "It's always something.”
Tom held her close. "Be careful, darling. I'll be back before you know it, and then we really will have a vacation.”
“Pix should drive with you so you won't get lost.”
“That's a good idea, and she can tell me all the things you didn't on the way." Tom shook his head. "I never met Fox, but I read all his books when I was a kid, and I feel like I know him. What do you think. Could he possibly have done this?"
“I think he was obsessed by her and he might have been driven to some kind of passionate act, but I don't see him plotting to do away with Roger. Or killing her so brutally. He'd have been more likely to give her a poisoned apple and watch her slip into a sleeplike death."
“I'd better get going. I'll call you from New Hampshire tonight. Try to take it easy today. Play with the kids. Cook." Faith kissed him. "Drive carefully. 1 love you.”
She watched as the tiny caravan took off, then got into Pix's car. For a moment she was daunted by the number of things confronting her on the Range Rover's dashboard—there was even a compass. Then she set off for John Eggleston's house in Little Harbor, curious to see how the former clergyman lived.
She pulled into his road and swerved immediately over to the side to avoid the large Lincoln town car speeding in her direction. As it careened past, she saw Paul Edson at the wheel with Edith sitting stiffly beside him. They were not smiling.
Now what could they want with John Eggleston? Faith wondered. A spiritual crisis?
He was standing in front of his house. His face was more ruddy than usual and his angry expression softened only slightly when he realized it was Faith.
It was a small white farmhouse in perfect repair. Peony bushes lined up like choirboys across the front, and a purple martin multiple-dwelling birdhouse adorned a huge pine that stood to one side. There were no other flowers. No lawn decorations—no whirligigs, clam-basket planters, old tires filled with marigolds, or the ubiquitous posterior of a fat lady pending over that had sprouted on many local lawns this sum- mer, the only variation being in the color and pattern of her bloomers.
It was all pretty stark, until you looked past the house to the view.
John Eggleston had one of the choicest pieces of waterfront on the island. The backyard stretched out to a salt marsh, and beyond that was a wide, crescent-shaped beach. And beyond that was the sea, a westward view of the islands. They looked like plump green pincushions today beneath a cloudless blue sky. Faith knew why the Edsons had been there and why John was not in the mood to love his neighbor. They'd been trying to get him to sell, and they must have had a reason to think he would.
She recollected herself and the job at hand.
“Is there somewhere we can talk? I'm afraid I have some bad news. They've arrested Bill."
“I'm not surprised," he said, and started walking toward the small gray-cedar-shingled barn at the rear of the house. Faith trotted along behind him.
She waited for amplification, realized it would not be forthcoming, and asked, "Why do you say you're not surprised?"
“Because they're all a bunch of fools. Bill included.”
He opened the door, and they stepped into what was obviously his workshop.
“They're a bunch of fools to think that Bill could do it, but they haven't the brains to figure out who did. And Bill's a fool for getting involved with the girl in the first place.”
He picked up a chisel and a mallet and started to hack away at an enormous piece of wood on his workbench. Faith perched on a stool and looked around. There were a number of pieces in various degrees of completion. She needn't wonder about how he supported himself anymore. He was obviously very competent at his craft. She noted the irony that many of the pieces seemed related to religion. There was a beautiful menorah, and an altarpiece, with a crucifix surrounded by flamelike spirals. He followed her glance.
“Most of my commissions come from churches and synagogues. I had started doing this when I was a priest, and just because I am no longer active in the church doesn't mean I should stop doing what I know best—or stop believing either.”
He was chipping away for dear life, and Faith noticed how sharp he kept his tools. The metal edges gleamed on the bench, mixing with the shavings that were flying all over the barn. He was certainly a muscular Christian.
He didn't seem inclined to talk about Bill, and she didn't feel like leaving. If she was ever going to find out anything about this man, she'd have to ask. He wasn't going to give anything away.
She plunged in. "Why did you leave the church?”
He glared at her, then turned back to his work. "I should say it's none of your business and it's not, but I'll tell you and you'll see why I think Bill has been such a fool. That girl would have brought him nothing but unhappiness. Has, in fact.”
Faith waited patiently.
“My grandfather had been an Episcopal priest, and I loved and respected him more than anyone in the world. I never had any doubt that that was what I wanted to be. He was at peace with himself and the world. And he gave that peace to others. But I lost it. And it was all because of a woman." He gave the wood a particularly violent vicious blow, and Faith drew slightly away.