“Yes. He seems so ruthlessly honest. Besides, he's quite confident he'll win the case, but he is worried about the costs. And the plot thickens. I saw the Edsons emerging from his drive. It's uncanny the way those two can nose out financial hardship. They were after his waterfront."
“I can imagine what he said, or even did."
“They didn't look pleased, but they did seem to be in one piece.”
Pix laughed. "They do look like one piece, joined at the seams.”
Faith had finished her wine. She took Zoë on her lap and Ben ran over to wiggle the baby's toes. "One piggy, two piggy, market."
“That boy is a genius," Pix commented.
Faith smiled. There were these moments.
“Eric left a note at the house inviting us for drinks in the gazebo. He's all moved in," Pix said, "but I'm too tired to go.”
Faith was tired too, but she wanted to see Eric after last night's contretemps at the dance. She'd told Pix about the tight, and she'd been inclined to dismiss it as too much Coors too fast. Faith hadn't told Pix about the bracelet. She wasn't altogether sure her friend Mrs. Miller could keep her mouth shut with Tom around, and she knew they would both worry.
“Come on, Pix, we'll just stay a little while, and it will be a good distraction. Heaven knows we need it."
“You don't usually say things like `heaven knows,' so you must have a reason for wanting me to come. But I want to be in my bed and asleep by eight.”
Faith wasn't sure she had heard correctly.
“Eight o'clock? That sounds obscene. I'm sure all that sleep can't be good for you."
“It is tonight," Pix answered.
“All right, I promise. Do you want to pick me up? And I almost forgot, can Samantha baby-sit?"
“Yes and yes.”
Faith had a momentary pang, followed swiftly by an unwelcome realization that utterance might lend validity to it. She bravely voiced it anyway.
“You don't think I'm asking Samantha and Arlene to watch the children too much, do you?"
“No, my dear, and you don't either. It is your vacation, though I must say it hasn't seemed like one. Besides, you're paying them very well for their labors, and I happen to know Arlene has opened an account at Bar Harbor Trust and all this is going toward college, so she's very pleased."
“College?"
“Yes, Arlene wants to be a biochemist."
“Still waters run deep. I'll see you later. I suppose we should wear our sprigged-lawn afternoon dresses or white muslins with the trim we tatted last winter?"
“Mine need airing, so I'm going for a denim skirt and that striped blouse you made me get. See you soon.”
The fog had started to roll in late in the day, and by the time they got to Eric's, it had stopped coming in wisps across the horizon and settled in a thick blanket that effectively obscured any dramatic sunset that might have glimpsed from the gazebo. Yet there was a cozy, mysterious quality to it.
They followed the red sun faintly piercing the fog as it slipped into the sea while they sipped some wine and nibbled the cheese straws Jill had made. She seemed very much the mistress of the house, and Faith, remembering Eric's words the night before, hoped she would be in name as well as deed soon. Eric appeared none the worse for wear, except for a large bruise on his left cheekbone. Neither Pix nor Faith said anything about it and studiously addressed their remarks to his good side.
“You two are so discreet," he said, laughing. "I really made an ass of myself last night. Faith can bear witness." He grabbed Jill around the waist. "That's what happens when I go anywhere alone.”
Seizing the opening, Faith hastened to ask, "What were you fighting about?"
“You name it. The house, the weather, politics, religion," he replied vaguely, and she had to be satisfied with the response, especially as Jill firmly proceeded to close the subject.
“I don't want to hear any more about it," she said. "Two grown men acting like children." She was angry herself. Bright-red spots rose on her cheeks. Faith was surprised at her intensity, then recalled that Jill, unlike the rest of them, was a true islander, and it must be embarrassing or worse to have the man she was in love with at odds with the Prescotts, a significant percentage of Sanpere's population.
Eric looked sheepish. "Tell us more about what's happening with Bill, Pix. Did you get to see him?"
“No, but he has a lawyer, James Lyman—a friend of Sam's from Blue Hill—who's been with him. When Jim leaves, he'll call Sam and we'll know more—whether Bill will be formally charged or not."
“What the hell are they doing wasting their time on Bill instead of finding out who really did this? It's typical of the way things run around here!" Eric exploded. "He's from away, so he's suspect!”
And they did find the murder weapon in his shed, Faith added mentally. It seemed Eric and Jill hadn't heard that the police had also found a drill and corks in Bill's shed, and she decided not to mention it if Pix didn't.
Pix didn't.
“I've known Bill since he came to the island," Jill said quietly. "It must have been twelve years ago. He was always a bit moody. There would be times when we wouldn't see him for a while. Usually it was when he was between books. When he was writing, he was engrossed but happy. I can't imagine that he would do something like this.”
But somebody had, and it was clear from the expression on each of their faces that that was what they were thinking. Pix stood up.
“This has been lovely, but I really have to go. I hope you'll excuse me, but I am so-o-o tired.”
Eric put his arm around her. "Of course you are, after the day you've had. But at least stay and have a bowl of chowder. You have to eat."
“Thank you, but I've been eating so many of these cheese tidbits, all I want is a cup of Sleepy Time tea and bed.”
Faith was a little worried. The words "unflagging,”
“indefatigable,”
“robust," had all been coined for Pix. "Tired" was something that happened to other people.
“I know what you mean," Jill said. "I'm tired too. Not my body. That can keep going on automatic pilot, but I find myself wanting to sleep so I don't have to think.”
Faith was relieved. Of course that was it. The engine was fine; it had just been flooded.
“We'll have a grand dinner party Labor Day weekend, an end-of-summer party," Eric offered. "Cocktails out here, then we'll retire to the dining room, which should be finished by then."
“Eric is stenciling a frieze around the walls," Jill explained. "Kind of a cross between William Morris and Peter Max."
“Sounds interesting," Faith said.
“Take a peek before you go," Eric urged.
Faith looked at Pix.
“One peek," Pix said, and they started to walk toward the house."Did you grow up in an old house?" Faith asked Eric.
“Anything but. It was a trailer that my father set on concrete blocks and later enclosed in siding. Then when my parents split up, I lived with my mother in an apartment in Houston. But by then I was a teenager and on my way out.”
And up, Faith thought. No wonder he loved the Prescott house so much. It was still the Prescott place, and even when Eric was ninety, it would be known as such. She wondered what he thought of that.
“And where did you live?" Faith turned to Jill. "I know you grew up here, but which part of the island?"
“I'll show you sometime. A relative of mine still lives there. It's a tiny old farmhouse on the shore near the causeway. It faces the Reach. I'll always miss living there. It seemed perfect when I was growing up. This house"—she gestured toward Harbor View, draped in fog and looming larger than life with nothing visible nearby for comparison—"this was like a mansion to us, although the Prescotts weren't snobbish. We just never had much occasion to come here.”