The Body In The Basement

Nine

The phone was ringing. Pix swung her legs over the side of the bed, shoved her feet into her slippers, and ran downstairs. It must be Samantha needing a ride home.

“Hi, Mrs. Mil er," Arlene said cheerily. "I know it's a little late, but can I speak to Samantha?"

“Isn't she with you?" Pix's chest tightened and her heart began to pound.

“You mean she's not home yet! I left her off at the end of your road about half an hour ago”

Pix dropped the phone and raced up to Samantha's room, cal ing her daughter's name. She had to be there. Pix hadn't heard her come in. Obviously, Samantha hadn't wanted to bother her and had gone straight to bed. Even as Pix opened the door, she knew none of this was true. The room was dark and the bed stil neatly made.

Pausing only to grab her keys from the kitchen counter, she picked up the phone and told Arlene to cal the police—

and the ambulance corps. Then she got in the car and started slowly down the road, searching on either side for Samantha.

The moon was bright; if it hadn't been, she would have missed her. Samantha was lying under a tree, partial y concealed by a stand of large ferns. A few feet farther on, the ground dropped off to a ledge of jagged granite rocks, now nearly covered by the incoming tide.

She ran to her, cal ing, "Samantha! Samantha!" But there was no answer. She was sobbing as she reached her daughter, careful y putting her arms about her. She was warm and Pix could feel her soft breath on her mother's cheek. She was alive.

“Samantha! Oh dear God, please help us!" Pix had no idea what her child's injuries might be, so she dared not move her, but knelt next to her, cradling her, burying her face in her daughter's sweet-smel ing hair. The night air was warm, yet Pix had never felt so cold.

She held her daughter's hand and felt for her pulse. It was steady. Samantha's eyelids fluttered.

“Samantha? Can you hear me?"

“Where am I, Mom? What's going on?" Samantha's voice started as a whisper, then got stronger. She looked about her in agitation. "My head hurts. It was Duncan. His shoes. I saw his shoes. Duncan hit me" She reached her hand to the back of her head and pul ed it quickly away.

“Mom, I'm bleeding! I'm scared! Do something!" She began to cry.

“The ambulance wil be here soon. Try to stay stil ." Pix had not seen the blood. She lay down next to her daughter, with her arm over Samantha's body to keep her calm.

Where was the ambulance! With her other hand, she grasped Samantha's hand, wet with her own blood, tightly.

“Sssh, honey, don't worry. Everything's going to be al right.”

But it wasn't.

After what seemed like several hours, she heard the ambulance siren and tears streamed down her face in relief. Earl was right behind them. He ran toward them.

“What happened?" he asked as the rescue workers rapidly assessed Samantha's injuries.

“I don't know! Arlene Prescott cal ed and said she'd dropped Samantha off at the end of the road. When Samantha wasn't in the house, I came to look for her. She said it was Duncan. She saw his shoes!" The rescue workers were wrapping Samantha in a blanket and moving her onto a stretcher.

“She's had a concussion; we're treating her for shock,"

one of the squad said. "And she has a scalp wound that's going to need some sutures, but nothing seems to be broken. You want to ride with her?”

Pix climbed in the back of the ambulance for the drive over the bridge to the mainland. Samantha seemed to be sleeping. Pix was on one side, a corps member, bless him, on the other.

Duncan Cowley had attacked her daughter. Intending what?

At the hospital, Samantha was taken away before Pix could get out of the ambulance. Earl had been fol owing and gave her a hand.

“I've been in touch with the state police and they're going down to the island to question the boy and his parents. You know she's going to get the best care possible here. I know how hard it is, but she's young and healthy. Everything's going to be fine, Pix.”

Pix did not trust herself to do more than nod and let him lead her into the waiting room, where a nurse promptly put a cup of coffee loaded with sugar into her hand. Arlene and Fred were already there. For a moment, Pix was in the peculiar position of having to comfort Arlene when what she was feeling was anger. Why hadn't she driven Samantha to the door!

“I shouldn't have let her walk home," Arlene wailed.

Fred looked at Pix and told his girlfriend to be quiet.

"No one's blaming you. Now stop bothering Mrs. Mil er."

Arlene took a mighty gulp and calmed down.

Then they waited.

Someone at the nurse's station offered them more coffee, but Pix didn't want any. The cup she had drunk was making her feel jangly. She had cal ed Sam soon after they'd arrived and he was waiting by the phone. She wanted him by her side. Hospital waiting rooms. She thought of al the hours she had spent in them: her father's last il ness, a friend's mastectomy, Sam's ulcer, Danny's broken arm. No one talked except in occasional hushed voices. Each was total y absorbed in the thoughts being directed toward the room you weren't al owed to be in.

She knew, as Earl had said, that Samantha was going to be okay, but the nature of the attack—and al that blood

—was taking her down these dark corridors in her mind.

Then, as it happened in hospitals, the time stretched out beyond anxiety into boredom, and final y numb fatigue.

Arlene suddenly got up. "The knife! I forgot al about the knife. It's in the car."

“What knife?" Fred asked.

“The one in Duncan's trunk. Thank God he didn't have it with him.”

Earl tuned into the conversation. He'd been off with Jil on the long white sandy beach out at the Point.

He came over to them and said, "You better tel me al about it—and keep your voices down. We don't want to worry Mrs. Mil er.”

If Pix noticed that Earl and Fred left soon after, it didn't real y register, nor did Fred's return alone. Earl walked in later. What did capture her immediate attention was the entry of a man in a white coat.

“Mrs. Mil er?" Pix jumped up, for once unaware of the picture she presented. It was an odd one in these wee hours of the morning—she was in her pajamas, with Earl's jacket over them.

It was a young doctor, as most of them seemed to be these days. "Your daughter would like to see you." He was smiling.

“She's going to be al right?" Her tears flowed freely.

Earl, Arlene, and Fred gathered close.

“Yes, though she's going to have a very large lump on her head and we had to do a little embroidery on her scalp

—not much. The ambulance crew said from the way she was lying, she struck a tree root or a rock when she fel , which knocked her out cold. Samantha says someone pushed her and it must have been with some force. We also did a CAT scan and I don't see anything to be concerned about. We do want to keep her overnight to be sure, but she's a very healthy specimen and should be just fine.”

The news was overwhelming.

“When can I have a few words with her, Doctor?" Earl asked. "There seems to be an assault involved and we need al the information she can give us"

“If you keep it very brief, I don't see why you can't do it now. But"—he looked back at Arlene and Fred—"that's al .

The best thing for her now is rest. She was pretty shaken up.”

They nodded solemnly.

“Tel her ... wel , tel her I'm sorry and give her my love.

And I'l be here as soon as she can have visitors.”

Pix gave Arlene a hug, her recent anger total y vanished. Samantha had been dropped off at the end of the road, as had al of them day and night, hundreds of times.

The sight of her daughter in a hospital bed threatened to unhinge her, but Pix took a firm hold of herself—and Samantha.

“I have to cal Daddy right away. He's waiting. Then I'l be right back. Earl wants to talk to you about what happened. Do you feel up to it?"

“They gave me something to make my head stop hurting and I feel a little dopey, but I can tel him what happened. It was so quick, Mom." Samantha gave a little sob. "Duncan must real y hate me!"

“Don't think about it, sweetheart. He's a very, very troubled boy.”

As Pix was leaving to get Earl, the nurse came in. "You have a phone cal , Mrs. Mil er. You can take it out here.”

Pix fol owed her and soon heard her husband's familiar voice. She told him what the doctor had said. "I just wish you were here, even though she's fine"

“Wel , I wil be in about three and a half hours tops."

"What!"

“I couldn't simply sit home. I'm a little south of Portland and wil be at the hospital as soon as I can. Nobody's too concerned about speed limits at this time of night. If I do get stopped, I'l have them cal Earl."

“Please be careful, darling." Pix was thril ed that he was on his way, but one Mil er in the hospital was more than enough.

“Don't worry, I wil .”

She hung up and went back to Samantha's room, where she intended to spend the night.

Earl had finished questioning her.

“We'l let you know what happens with the Athertons.

Duncan must have been upset that they were in his cabin and he blamed Samantha. But why he didn't confront her, I don't know. Usual y, he just yel s. I never expected violence"

Earl's lips were tight. "He's been trouble since he arrived and we've been too soft with him. Not this time."

“In his cabin?" Pix had missed the story so far.

“I'l let Samantha tel you. The doctor told me I had five minutes and they're up. Take care of yourself, Pix. I'l be by in the morning." He gave her a quick hug and left. Before the door closed, she ran over and told him, "Sam is on his way" Earl nodded. "I'm Sony this happened. Samantha's a terrific kid. Now you get some rest, too.”

Samantha was barely conscious, but for different reasons than earlier. She had heard the last part of their conversation, though.

“Daddy's coming?"

“Yes, he'l be here in a couple of hours."

“Good. I bet he wants to beat the shit out of Duncan"

Pix did not deny it. She wanted to do it herself.

* * *

The next morning, things were not so clear. Duncan Cowley had been at the nine o'clock movie that did not get out until past eleven. Two friends swore to it and Wendel Marshal , who manned the ticket booth, distinctly remembered sel ing him a ticket.

“It's hard to forget a kid with a hoop in his ear and green hair," he'd told Earl. Duncan had apparently streaked his locks with some sort of dye for the evening out. Now in the hard light of day, it looked pretty pathetic as he sat in Earl's office uneasily flanked by his parents. The state police had come to the house the night before and Jim had stil not shaken off his indignation at his stepson for being the cause of their visit.

“In al my years on Sanpere Island, the police have never had to come to my house for any reason whatsoever.

Now we want some answers here and we want them fast.”

Earl thought this was his line, but he let it lie.

“Duncan," he said to the boy in a milder tone. The kid looked like he'd been through the mil . "We just want to know what happened. No one's accusing you of anything."

“Be real," the boy shouted. "You're never going to believe a fucking word I say, so why don't you go ahead and lock me up!" Earl wondered where Duncan had found the energy. Since he'd come in with Valerie and Jim, he'd sat slumped over in the chair, dressed as usual in black and smel ing of stale beer and cigarettes. He was probably hungover from the night before. When the police had not found him at home, they'd driven around the island, turning their flashlight beams into a number of cars and soon locating Duncan in the backseat of one, trying to hide a six-pack under his scrawny frame.

Earl was pretty tired, too. This was the second time he'd talked with the Athertons and the boy himself.

Duncan's denial and alibi had left Earl in a dilemma. He'd been asking around. There were only a few other kids who had the same shoes, mostly summer people. Those things cost a fortune. But in light of Duncan's alibi, he'd have to track down every pair and owner. As alibis went, it was a pretty good one. Patrons who got up in the middle of the film, obscuring the sight of those behind them, did not go unnoticed or unremarked on Sanpere. The only possibility was that Duncan had bought a ticket from Wendel and then immediately went out by another door. Could he have been so furious at Samantha that he'd plotted the attack ahead of time, even providing himself with an alibi? Of course his friends would lie through their teeth for him. At the moment, Earl was trying to find others, less loyal, who might have seen him in the audience. The whole thing was complicated by the group's penchant for the same style and color of dress. He'd have to hope Duncan was the only one with the nifty hairdo.

The boy claimed that he had not even known Samantha and Arlene had been in his cabin. He seemed pretty upset about it. Until Jim told him to shut his mouth and keep it shut, Duncan had tried to turn the tables, inveighing against the two girls. "They're the ones you should get. Trespassing. B and E. That's private property!”

Earl didn't say anything about the knife the girls had taken away. The night before, he'd taken it to the police station in Blue Hil for the state police to pick up. He hadn't heard anything since.

After a further wearying hour, Earl sent Duncan home with Jim and Valerie to what he was sure would be house arrest. Duncan cast an odd look back at the sergeant and Earl had the distinct impression that Duncan would have favored the one and only cel down the hal from the office—

mostly used to store stationery supplies for the town hal .

Valerie had sat tight-lipped and grim throughout the ordeal. She seemed to have erected a wal between herself and the rest of the world. She was dressed in a simple blue-checked skirt and white blouse, no hat, no makeup. At one point, Duncan turned to her and said, "Why would I want to do anything to Samantha Mil er? I don't even know her." Valerie just shook her head in utter defeat.

Earl walked out with them to their car. "Thank you for coming in."

“A rotten business," Jim said, "a sorry mess.

Samantha's one of the best sailing instructors we've ever had at Maine Sail." He glared at Duncan.

An old pickup came roaring down the street—it needed a new muffler—and screeched to a halt next to them. John Eggleston, his hair a mess of disheveled fiery locks, leapt out and ran toward them.

“I just heard. Please, let's sit down and talk about what happened before anyone goes off the deep end”

During the long wait the night before, Pix had fil ed Earl in on everything Samantha had told her and had also mentioned her conversation with John. And John had, in fact, been in touch with Earl, asking him to keep an eye on the old quarry. Earl had touched on some of this with Duncan and the Athertons.

“You've done enough harm here! Al your little talks!

We know about the kinds of `literature: you've been recommending and you may be hearing from my lawyer."

Jim had apparently already dived in.

John stood for a moment, openmouthed. "Too late," he muttered, "too late”

He stood with Earl, watching the family drive away. "I was hoping they'd let the boy stay with me for a while until things cool down."

“I doubt there's much hope of that. One way or another, Duncan Cowley is going off this island.”

It was almost dark when Pix woke up. She lay stil for a moment. Sam had thrown a light blanket over her. The heat was final y breaking. She looked out the window at the familiar line of fir trees pointing to the boathouse and shore.

The outcroppings of pink granite were faintly visible, or maybe it was because she knew they were there that she could see them. She could hear Sam and Samantha talking in her room down the hal . Pix felt warm and safe. She stood up and draped the blanket around her shoulders, trailing it like a queen's mantle as she went in to see her daughter and husband.

“Mom, Daddy's cheating!" Samantha laughed. They were playing Uno.

“That's nice," said Pix. "What do you want for supper?”

Samantha was stil in a good mood three days later, but was beginning to get restless. She had been showered with attention in both tangible and intangible forms. The campers had al made cards for her. Susannah and Geoff had created three gushing ones each. The Fairchilds had sent a basket of yel ow roses, baby's breath, and daisies—

not the kind the Mil ers gathered in big bunches from the meadow to weave into crowns or set about the house in a variety of containers, but perfect daisies with huge yolk yel ow centers and every creamy white petal perfect. No tiny holes as evidence that some creature had rested there.

Gert Prescott left two lemon meringue pies. Ursula brought a beautiful conch shel Samantha had long coveted.

Valerie dropped by to leave a tiny porcelain box with the words FORGET ME NOT surrounded by the flowers on the lid. She tried to say how sorry they were to Pix, but Pix, feeling very uncomfortable, cut her off, thanking her and adding, "Samantha is fine, thank God, and maybe Duncan wil get the help he needs now.”

That you al need, she finished silently.

Sam had stayed until Monday night and he and Pix had spent a great deal of time talking together and with Earl about what to do. In the end, with Samantha's approval, they decided not to press charges. It wasn't because of lack of evidence but, rather, because they felt that Duncan might only become more withdrawn and disturbed if caught up in the juvie system. Both Pix and Sam had been very moved by Samantha's description of what the boy kept in his trunk. Earl spoke to the Athertons and they were going to find an appropriate residential school with a summer program—not the military one—for their son as soon as possible. Depending on how he did and what those working with him said, they'd decide whether he would return home in the fal or stay.

Sam had left reluctantly, trying up to the last minute to get his wife and his daughter to go back with him, but neither woman wanted to budge.

“I'm not going to let her out of my sight," Pix told her husband, "especial y at night. Earl doesn't think she's in any danger. Duncan wil be leaving soon, and we can't run away.”

Sam agreed intel ectual y, yet his gut told him otherwise. "I'l be back Friday night." Pix wasn't going to argue with that.

Adelaide Bainbridge's funeral was Tuesday morning.

Pix and Samantha had driven out to The Pines to get Ursula. Rebecca had been picked up earlier by a contingent of Bainbridge cousins feeling pangs of familial obligation: "Poor old Becky.”

Samantha had had plenty of company since she'd returned home from the hospital Saturday morning, none more constant than her grandmother's. Pix knew her mother would be terribly shaken by what had happened and she was right. Today, Ursula opened the door to Samantha, who was running up the steps, the only evidence of the attack and her slight concussion hidden by her hair. To al intents and purposes, she was ful y recovered, but the pain in the older woman's eyes was fresh. Pix was struck anew by how much her mother seemed to have aged since Saturday. There were dark shadows and lines that Pix had never seen on Ursula's face before. When she spoke, it was not in her usual timbre. The volume had been turned down and the treble increased.

“Mother, are you sure you want to go?" Pix asked.

"There'l be so many people at the service, no one wil miss us."

“Of course I want to go—and Rebecca would notice, for one. Besides, I couldn't miss Addie's funeral. I've known her for so many years”

Pix thought her mother would say this and she resolved to get her away as soon as possible after the graveside service.

As they drove across the causeway back toward Sanpere Vil age, Pix again noted the happy vacationers on the beach and out in their boats, enjoying the typical Maine day. The heat spel had broken and normal July weather was back. There was a good stiff breeze on the water, turning up smal whitecaps. The sun shone just enough for comfort and a few hardy souls were swimming.

“I'm glad it's not so hot today. The idea of sitting through the service wondering who was going to pass out, maybe even me, is distinctly unappealing.”

Samantha laughed. The idea of her mother passing out in any situation seemed pretty far-fetched—but then, she had been in no shape to judge on Friday night.

“Addie could never take the heat, even when she was thin."

“Addie was thin?" In Pix's memory, Adelaide had always been a substantial woman.

“Oh yes, she was thin—and very pretty—when she was young. She could have had her pick of any number of the boys. My brother, Tom, used to talk about the beautiful lighthouse keeper’s daughter. She'd come over for dances and such, but even then she tended to be outspoken. He thought she'd probably boss a man to death.”

It hit Pix that they were on their way to a funeral. So much had been going on that she'd been viewing the morning's activity as a kind of respite, especial y since the medical examiner had ruled the death due to heart failure, plain and simple; nothing to do with quilts, crosses—or knives. Samantha had told her about the knife they'd found.

She would have to ask Earl about it.

“Rebecca must have been mistaken about the quilt,"

she said to her mother, who was sitting up straight in the seat next to her, holding her purse in gloved hands. "I hope it's not a sign that she's beginning to deteriorate."

“I don't think Rebecca Bainbridge's going downhil any faster than the rest of us—but she may have made a mistake with the quilt.”

Pix looked over to exchange a smile with her mother about the downhil remark, but her mother's face was shut up tight.

The whole island was crowded into the simple white church that sat high on a hil facing out to Penobscot Bay where Addie had worshiped, off and on—mostly on, of late.

The Sanpere Stitchers al sat in one pew, immediately behind Rebecca and the rest of the family. Pix reached for Samantha's hand and gave it a squeeze. She had told her daughter she didn't need to come but had been happy when Samantha wanted to be there. Pix was stil not ready to be separated from her, even for an hour or two. She looked around the church, flooded with sunshine from the clear long, glass windows that framed the bay above the plain altar and that on the sides offered a view of the woods on the left, the cemetery on the right. Soon Adelaide would join her husband, James, there. The stone with both their names had been in place for many years, merely waiting for this last date to be carved on its polished granite surface.

Pix looked down the row of faces in her pew: Nan Marshal ; Geil, Dot, and Louel a Prescott; Mabel Hamilton; Louise Frazier; Jil Merriwether; Serena Marshal ; and others. These island women held the community together in so many ways, a root system like the evergreens and ground covers that kept the thin layer of earth on top of this inhabited rock from washing off into the sea. The women were al subdued but showed no outward signs of grief. It was Addie's time. And she had had a long life, not like some: Louel a's grandson, lost diving for urchins; Mabel's daughter, kil ed in a car accident. Pix saw Jil bow her head suddenly. In silent prayer? What—or whom— was she thinking about? Ursula's head was unbowed and her face appeared swept clean of al expression, except to one who knew her as wel as her daughter did. Something was troubling Mother. The slight lowering of her eyebrows, the barely perceptible tightening of her lips. Pix looked at her mother's lap. Her hands were clenched together, thumbs locked over each other. Not in prayer. She had been upset about the attack on Samantha and the death of her old friend, of course, but was there something else? Mother was remarkably good at keeping things from people. Pix resolved to find out what was bothering her, even if it took the rest of the summer.

She gave a surreptitious glance over her shoulder as they stood for a hymn. The church was indeed packed.

Norman Osgood was in one of the rear pews, solemn-faced. Seth was also in the rear. He seemed perfectly at ease in his unaccustomed formal garb, a wel -cut dark suit.

Pix wondered why he wasn't up with the rest of the family.

Had to get back to work quickly?

They sat down and the minister began his eulogy.

Rebecca began to cry audibly. She was going home today, she'd told Ursula. She'd been able to go back ever since the final report from the state medical examiner's office, but at Ursula Rowe's urging, Rebecca had decided to stay at The Pines until after the funeral. Would she move to the front bedroom right away? Pix wondered. Or would she stay in the smal one in back until a decent period of mourning had passed? And what would the family do?

Surely not turn her out immediately. Pix hoped the force of island opinion, mainly the formidable force of the Sewing Circle, would prevent that from happening.

She realized she had barely listened to the service.

She was agitated, too. The world was topsy-turvy and the sooner she could get her feet firmly planted on the ground, the better. One death was resolved, but the other was not.

They al filed out of the church in silence as the organist played Adelaide's favorite hymn, "Abide with Me." Then they buried her.

“Mother, you cannot keep me locked up like some princess in a tower! I want to get back to work. They need me! And nothing could be safer. I'm surrounded by hordes of little munchkins every minute I'm there. You can drive me over and pick me up. I won't even go to the bathroom by myself, I promise. But you've got to let me leave. I'm starting to go nuts here”

The argument had begun the night before and had not been resolved by bedtime. Now, the next morning, Samantha was up bright and early, perched at the foot of her mother's bed, picking up where she had left off. Pix hadn't slept wel . She knew Samantha would have to resume her schedule sometime, but why did it have to be today? She'd hoped to keep her close to home for another week at least to make sure she was al right.

“I'm fine," Samantha argued. "The doctor said I could go back to work when I felt up to it, and I feel great. This is your problem, not mine. Would it make you feel any better to fol ow me around the whole morning?"

“Yes," Pix answered immediately, "it would."

“Oh, Mother!" was Samantha's annoyed reply as she noisily stomped off to her room.

Pix knew she was beaten and she also knew that she had to let her daughter go. Much as she wished to, she could not keep Samantha wrapped in cotton wool for the rest of the summer—or the rest of her life. She fol owed her down the hal .

“Al right. But I drive you there and back. Plus, if you get tired or feel anything out of the ordinary at al , you cal immediately. I'l be here al morning." Sitting by the phone.

Samantha flung herself at her mother and gave her a big kiss. "I love you, Mom. Now we'd better hurry. I don't want to be late.”

Wel , at least it was Mom again.

Samantha felt like a bird let free from its cage. She darted into the kitchen to say hel o to everyone before meeting her group down by the waterfront.

“It's great to have you back, Sam. I didn't think your mom would let you out so soon," Arlene said after giving her friend a big hug.

“Desperate situations cal for desperate measures. I had to get tough. Would you believe at the last minute she wanted me to bring the dogs? Like they would real y protect me. And can you imagine how nuts the kids would be!”

They laughed and Samantha went down to the waterfront, where she was greeted with enthusiasm, Susannah dramatical y throwing her skinny little body straight into Samantha's arms. "You're okay! I thought I'd never see you again!”

Susannah could be headed for a career on the stage, and living in Manhattan as she did, this might come to pass, Samantha thought. The little girl seemed constantly to be playing some sort of role. Geoff was hovering nearby.

Samantha quickly got her group together and they started for the boats. The kids had been quick learners and she was taking them out on the water two at a time while the others practiced knot tying and studied the sailing manual.

She'd al owed them to pick their own partners, figuring they'd work best with someone they liked. Geoff and Susannah had chosen each other and were the fourth pair to go with Samantha. She kept quiet and let them set sail.

They started off fine, but soon the sail was luffing and the boat almost at a standstil .

“Al right now, what do we do?" Samantha asked.

“We did it on purpose, Samantha," Geoff said. "We have something to tel you." His voice was firm and serious.

Susannah had less control, or more theatrics. "It's our fault that you got hurt."

“What!" Samantha said in amazement.

“Wel , not exactly our fault," Geoff explained, "but we kind of feel that maybe if we'd told you what we'd been doing sooner, then it might not have happened."

“What have you been doing?" Samantha asked sternly.

“Your getting hurt was like a punishment to us."

Susannah was off and running. Geoff interrupted her.

“Let's just tel her." He turned toward Samantha. "It started because Susannah and I were real y pissed off at coming here. Maybe we kind of hoped we'd get caught and be kicked out”

Samantha got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. The mice. She looked at the two cherubic faces in front of her.

“You're not tel ing me you put those dead mice in the kitchen are you?" she gasped.

“Yuck! No Way!" said Susannah. "Although it did make things more fun.”

Geoff continued patiently. "We did al the other stuff—

the short sheeting, the spoiled milk, the salt in the sugar .. "

“Not the paint!" Again Samantha leapt to the worst.

“No, not the paint. We like sailing. But," he had the grace to lower his head slightly, "we did screw up the parade"

“And God punished us," Susannah declared solemnly.

"He let you get hurt and you're the most decent thing here.

Besides you, Geoff," she hastened to add.

“God doesn't work that way, but we'l talk about that some other time. What we have to do now is tel Mr.

Atherton what's been going on.”

Geoff and Susannah's expressions clearly indicated they would rather face their Maker.

“Do you think he'l send us home?" Geoff asked. "I thought that's what you wanted?"

“Only at first, then doing stuff was fun because everybody was getting so crazed at everything else that was going on. This is the best camp I've ever been to.”

Susannah nodded agreement.

The idiots, Samantha thought as she headed the boat back to shore and proceeded to give them a talking-to that would have made her mother proud.

The rest of the group was waiting for them on the dock with puzzled expressions on their faces.

“What was taking you guys so long? There's a good wind today. Why couldn't you come about?" one of them asked. "We're going to be late for lunch."

“You al run along and I'l put everything away. Tel Mr.

Atherton that Geoff and Susannah are helping me. We'l be there as soon as we can.”

As they stowed the gear, the two children chattered happily like the reprieved felons they were. Samantha, the godess, didn't hate them. She had barely yel ed.

Samantha was preoccupied. So it hadn't been Duncan who had spoiled the parade.

But that stil left everything else.

After lunch, Samantha cal ed home with the news. Her mother had been surprised, amused, and ultimately sympathetic.

“So, I'm going to take them to Jim now and then I'd real y like to spend the afternoon here. The counselors can use my help and I hate to leave the kids like this. I won't stay any later than five and you can pick me up at the Athertons'

house, where I wil stay absolutely put. I left without my paycheck Friday, Jim told me. I didn't know I would be getting one so soon and it's at the office over there."

“As long as you're not too tired, but swear that you'l get someone to walk you over."

“Al right, but I'm only doing this to make you happy."

“Could there be a better reason?"

“Mother! I've got to go.”

Jim reacted to Susannah and Geoff's confession almost absentmindedly. Samantha could only assume that his problems with Duncan overshadowed everything else, even the sabotage of the Fourth of July parade, one of Jim's favorite camp events. "The jewel in the crown of summer," he cal ed the fancy formations they dreamed up each year.

Chastised and chastened, the two children were released to their counselors. They would have to apologize to the whole camp. Jim would also inform their parents and he was firm. He didn't think he could accept them as campers again. Stil , he told them they could write and plead their case this winter.

“He was real y fair," Samantha told Arlene at the end of the day as her duenna escorted her through the woods to the "Mil ion Dol ar Mansion.”

“Maybe if he treated Duncan the way he treats the campers, things wouldn't have gotten so messed up"

“Dream on! The guy is wacko. He's responsible for those stitches in your head, remember."

“I know." Samantha stopped in the middle of the path.

"But something has to make someone like that"

“You are too good. Remind me to cal Mother Teresa and tel her to move over. Duncan is pond scum, pure and simple.”

Samantha had to laugh at Arlene's choice of imagery, from Mother Teresa to pond scum.

“Al right, I agree.”

Arlene waved good-bye as Samantha knocked at the front door. Valerie opened it immediately. She was expecting her.

“Come in. How are you feeling? Are you sure you should be back at work so soon?"

“You sound like my mother," Samantha said. "I'm fine and I was beginning to get stir-crazy."

“Come on upstairs. Your check is in my office”

Samantha fol owed her up the spiral staircase, made by one of the last practitioners of this art in the state.

The only thing that distinguished the thoroughly feminine boudoir Valerie ushered Samantha into as an office was the Macintosh on a pale green-and-white sponge-painted table underneath one of the windows.

Beside it was a daybed covered by a bil owy white spread and piled high with pil ows. Samantha imagined how lovely it would feel to lean back into that down sea of rose chintzes and white eyelet. The rug was covered by more roses, woven against a dark green background. In contrast to the rest of the house, the wal s were not painted off-white, but papered in a sage stripe with a Victorian frieze of lilacs above. Two wicker chairs with plump cushions—you wouldn't have marks on the back of your legs from these—

sat on either side of the French doors leading to a smal secluded balcony overlooking the cove.

“I like to sunbathe there," Valerie said, fol owing Samantha's eye. "I let myself go in here. I do spend quite a bit of time in this room. Jim hates it. Too much froufrou, he says," and she laughed.

“Wel , I love it. I'd give anything for one like it!"

Samantha enthused, forgetting her insistence two years earlier that Pix get rid of any and al vestiges of flowers, dotted swiss, and ribbon from Samantha's bedroom.

Valerie was rummaging around on the table, pul ing open the drawer in the middle.

“Your check must be in Jim's study. Why don't you admire the view. I'l be back in a minute.”

Samantha dutiful y sat in one of the chairs. It was as comfortable as it looked. The phone on Valerie's desk rang, then stopped. She must have answered it downstairs.

Samantha stood up and walked around the room, admiring the primitive stil lifes that hung on the wal s. Next to a plant stand with an arrangement of wax fruit and flowers never seasonal mates in nature, under a large glass dome, there was a closet door. Feeling slightly guilty, Samantha decided to open it after first listening careful y to make sure Valerie wasn't coming up the stairs. She just had to see what kind of leisure wear Valerie kept here—Victoria's Secret or Laura Ashley? She giggled and wished Arlene was with her. She'd die when Samantha told her.

She quietly turned the intricately embossed brass doorknob.

The closet was huge, but instead of the negligees, tea gowns, and whatever that Samantha had expected, there was nothing except a large antique armoire. It had an ornate lock but no key. The closet smel ed strongly of potpourri and Samantha sneezed. She reached into her jeans pocket for a tissue. She didn't have one. Yet, there was something else there. Down at the bottom was the key she'd found over two weeks ago, that sunny day when she and Mom had taken the dogs for a walk to see how the Fairchilds' new house was coming along—a sunny day that seemed to have had its start in another life.

Al of a sudden, she felt nervous. She held the key in her hand. It had been so warm, she hadn't been wearing jeans much. This was the first time since that long-ago Sunday she'd had this pair on.

It was an ornate key, like the lock.

Before she could change her mind, she put it in, turned, and heard the click as the doors opened. When she saw what was inside, she laughed in relief. A whole shelf of plastic Mickey Mouse figures, old ones. There were also some folk art carvings of animals and one of a figure that looked like someone from the Bible. On other shelves were piles of quilts. This was obviously where Valerie kept her finds.

Samantha closed one of the doors and bent down to make sure the quilts didn't get in the way. She reached under a bunch to ease them farther into the chest and immediately pul ed back, as if she'd put her hand into a blazing fire instead of a stack of linens. She closed the other door, pocketed the key, shut the closet door fast, and sat back down, looking straight out to sea. Her heart was pounding, her cheeks blazing.

There had been a neat little blue cross stitched on the binding of each of the quilts. They lined up like little soldiers. The crosses again. There had been one on Mitchel Pierce's quilt. There had been one on the quilt her mother had bought, a quilt her mother had told her was a fake. Should she tel Valerie? What should she do? She put her hands up to her cheeks to try to cool them down. They felt ice-cold against her blushes. She took a deep breath.

Valerie was coming.

“The view is real y something. I could stay here forever," she said in as normal a tone as she could.

“I hope you don't have to, dear." Valerie's tone wasn't normal at al . Samantha twisted around in the chair.

Valerie might have brought the paycheck, but she had also brought an extremely lethal-looking gun, which she was handling with ease, pointing it directly between her employee's big brown eyes.

“I have to run. I'm already a bit late picking Samantha up, but she's waiting for me at the Athertons' house, and it's certainly no punishment for her to revel in Valerie's company amid Valerie's perfect taste. If anything, she'l probably Òh, Mother' me for getting there too soon.”

Faith laughed—while she stil could. Amy, happily playing next to her adored Mommy on a water-fil ed mat, complete with floating spongy fish, would no doubt put her through this sometime in the future, as wel .

“Al right. I just wanted to check in and hear about the funeral, though this one sounds pretty tame." Faith and Pix had attended a more dramatic service on the island several summers ago—one that people were stil talking about.

“Yes, poor Addie. Poor Rebecca. But I suppose their lives have been happy ones, if not bursting with excitement.

And Adelaide real y did make a name for herself in the quilt world."

“Hmmm," Faith was ready to move on back to the living, especial y her own life. "If Tom can get away early, we'l be up Friday night. Do you think Seth wil have started the framing by then?"

“He said he would, and even though it's been cooler, we haven't had any rain, so the foundation should be dry soon."

“I can't wait to see it— and you, and Samantha.”

“Likewise, I'm sure.”

The two women hung up. Faith reached for Amy. "Your first trip of many to Sanpere Island," she told her child, who listened intently and replied with a string of appropriate nonsense syl ables. Was it just because she was a mother that Faith thought she could discern the words wanna go, wanna go? Wel , I want to go, too, Faith reflected. With the amount she was spending cal ing Pix, it might have been cheaper, and more sensible, to have shut down the company and gone up in July in the first place. Besides, although things seemed to have settled down on the island, she knew she wouldn't feel easy until she saw Pix and especial y Samantha for herself.

“You'l like it there." She continued to hold a one-sided conversation with her child, a situation she'd eventual y gotten used to with Ben. In his early days, she'd felt as if she was talking to a cat or some other domesticated pet. "It has icy cold water, lots of bugs, no place to eat, no place to shop, nothing much to do." And they were building a house in this Shangri-la.

Pix knocked loudly at the Athertons' front door and, receiving no reply, knocked again. Perhaps they were on the deck in the front of the house. She walked around, didn't see anyone, and went back to the door. She knocked yet again, then did what she normal y did in Sanpere: walked in. She could hear Valerie's voice coming from upstairs.

“It's me, Pix," she cal ed from the bottom of the spiral.

Taking the silence for an invitation, she went on up. She was curious to see more of the house. At the top of the stairs, she saw an open door and through it Valerie's back.

She entered the room. "Sorry I'm a bit late ..." Her apology was cut short first by her initial impression of the decor—it was fit for a little princess, or an aging romance writer—

then by the gun.

“What's going on! Samantha, are you al right?”

“Shut up and sit down in the other chair.”

Pix was so stunned that for a moment she couldn't move. It was simply too much to take in al at once. Valerie?

“Move!”

She moved.

Samantha had been similarly turned to stone. She had hardly moved a muscle since Valerie had entered the room; even Pix's arrival did not cause more than a flutter of an eyelash. Every thought she had directed her to keep stil and stay alive. Her mother reached for her hand and she grabbed it, but did not shift her gaze or open her mouth.

Valerie, however, was talking to herself nonstop. Tap ping her foot in annoyance yet maintaining a steady aim, she sat down on the daybed, incongruously surrounded by lace.

“Everything was perfect! Mitch was out of the way.

We'd heard Seth tel his crew that they would be pouring the foundation after they finished the work at the camp.

Perfect!" She was fuming. "Mitch, the old lush. Couldn't keep his mouth shut and he thought he should get more money. For what? I ask you." Pix correctly assumed this was a purely rhetorical question, especial y since Valerie did not even pause before continuing her tirade. "So he could make things look old. Big deal. There are plenty of people to take his place—or who could have taken his place." If looks could indeed kil , Pix would have been effectively demolished and the gun superfluous. "But you had to start playing Nancy Drew. Stil , that didn't get anywhere, and I was home free. I had even gotten rid of Duncan, so life around here could be a little more peaceful.

I thought we were al going to have a lot of fun together. You haven't been a good friend at al !" She was pouting now.

The woman must be absolutely mad, Pix thought. She was talking as if Pix had done her out of an invitation to the Magnolia Bal or some such thing at the same time as she was confessing to murder! What else could the references to Mitch being "out of the way" and "pouring the foundation"

mean?

The initial shock had passed and Pix was never one to sit meekly by.

“Valerie, put that gun down before someone gets hurt. I have no idea what you're talking about and you're upsetting Samantha—and me " Pix grasped for an out. "Did you think she was an intruder?" It was pretty feeble and she quickly fol owed it with some soothing words in as warm a voice as she could manage, "And what's this nonsense about our not being friends? You know that's not true.”

If Samantha was surprised at her mother's sudden gift for bold-faced lying, she didn't show it.

“Now, Pix"—Valerie shook the gun like a chiding finger

—"friends help friends, and you haven't helped me one little bit. I was al ready to settle down in my beautiful house for the rest of my life, but that's al spoiled. And you're to blame.

Now, I have to think what to do.”

Pix offered a suggestion. "Why don't we just forget that any of this happened and we'l go home."

“I said I was thinking! Shush!”

Samantha squeezed her mother's hand and Pix obeyed. She felt a sudden bleak stab of despair.

The spiral staircase did not muffle footsteps. Pix listened with a lifting of her heart as the sounds continued, mounting quickly to the second floor. Jim threw open the door.

“I don't have much time. I have to be back for my nature group after dinner.”

So much for any hope of rescue. The Athertons were definitely a team.

“Her mother just barged in. Came to pick her up. As I said on the phone, I saw her go into the closet on the monitor in your den. Somehow she had a key to the armoire." Valerie looked away from Jim, to Samantha.

"And where did you get that key, young lady? How many other times have you been snooping around our things!”

Samantha opened her mouth, but words did not come out. She thought she might be sick.

“Answer me!"

“In the woods. I found it in the woods out by the Fairchilds' new house," she whispered.

“Mitch must have had it in his pocket and it dropped out when we were carrying him," Jim said meditatively. He might have been mul ing over the answer to a crossword-puzzle clue.

Meanwhile, Pix was trying to piece it al together.

Samantha must have stumbled across something incriminating in the closet, something no one was meant to see. Pix had heard that along with their gold faucets and bidets, the Athertons had a state-of-the-art surveil ance system. Yet it was the innocent caught by the guilty in this case.

“Jim, Samantha merely came over to get her check.

I'm sure she didn't mean to pry into anything, but you know how teenagers are." She was sure her daughter would forgive her. "There doesn't seem to be any harm done, so why don't we simply stop this. I'd like to go home."

“And I wish I could let you go, but we can't." Jim sounded genuinely sorry. "You may not understand al that is happening now—I know you wouldn't lie to us; you're too good a friend—however you'l figure it out later and have to tel Earl. Then where wil Valerie and I be? No, I'm afraid it's too late.”

There it was again. The friendship thing. Wel , friends didn't aim guns at friends in Pix's book. She couldn't think of anything to say and decided to keep quiet and concentrate on how she and her daughter were going to get away from these two lunatics. She was trying to replace al her fear with anger and it was working.

“It doesn't matter if we make a mess in here, because we're going to have to leave the house in any case."

Valerie was speaking matter-of-factly. "So, why don't we kil them both now and get rid of the bodies after dark?”

“What!" Pix couldn't help herself.

Jim seemed a bit taken aback also.

“Honey, I'm not so sure. I mean, I've known Pix for simply ages, my whole life, in fact."

“So what? You knew Mitch—and Buddy, for that matter.”

Buddy? Bernard Cowley! They had kil ed him, too!

“But not closely. I only met Buddy once or twice, remember, and of course he real y did drown, albeit with a bit of help from you. Pix is another matter. Our parents used to play bridge together."

“Oh, wel then, that changes everything." Valerie spoke with heavy sarcasm. "Why don't we let them go, then?”

Jim put his arm around his wife's shoulder in a gesture of affection. "Now, don't go getting al huffy, sweetcakes. I know we can't let them go, but I don't like the idea of having their deaths on my hands. We'l figure something out, don't you worry”

Pix had the feeling she was watching a strange combination of Ozzie and Harriet and Bonnie and Clyde.

“Look," he continued, "we'l tie them up and you can keep on eye on them. We can't go anywhere until after dark, anyway. And now I real y do have to get back. The kids wil be waiting. We're going to look at slides of seabirds.”

The camp, Jim's beloved camp.

“Jim," Pix asked, "how can you give up Maine Sail? It's been a part of your family al these years. You love it. It's in your blood. Do you want to say good-bye to it forever?" Pix thought if she talked like Jim, she'd have a better chance of getting through to him.

He did indeed look downcast. "I know. There's always been the sad possibility we'd have to cut and run. That's why I got the new boat, biggest diesel engine Caterpil ar makes. I was going to enter the lobster-boat races next month." He nodded his head toward the cove, where it bobbed in the water not far from the sloop. "Maine Sail was the most important thing in my life until I met Valerie, and you're right, I wil miss it. But, Pix dear, there are other places and I'l have another camp. Of that, I'm sure. Don't you worry. Now, why don't you come with me? I think we'l have to separate you " This last was in a sterner, "caught talking after lights out" voice.

Separation—it was what Pix was afraid of, Samantha, too.

“Mom!"

“No." Pix stood up and pul ed Samantha into her arms.

"I'm not leaving my daughter's side." She hoped Jim's parents had been lucky at cards.

He sighed. "Oh al right, you can stay together. Give me the gun, honey, and get some rope from the basement.

Here's a thought. Maybe we should lock them in the wine cel ar? It would be quicker."

“Yes, and why don't we give them some of the Baccarat so they can enjoy a glass or two." Valerie was stil bitter.

“I doubt they would wish to imbibe now, Val. Besides, Samantha is underage. No, we best leave them here. They might break one of the bottles”

Nuts, completely nuts. The words echoed in Pix's head as she waited for Valerie's return. When Jim had mentioned the wine cel ar, she'd had a thought. There was always the possibility that someone delivering something—

the handyman at work, or maybe Gert Prescott coming to clean—would see the odd procession through the huge plate-glass windows, but they couldn't court even this slim chance.

“Al right. That should do it.”

Valerie dumped enough hemp to tie up the Queen Mary at her husband's feet and took the gun firmly in her own hand.

“Good, good," Jim said as he started to wind the coils around Pix, finishing with what she knew must be very efficient knots. After al , the man taught the art.

“Oh, by the way, my love, I almost forgot." He gave a sharp yank to tighten the rope around Pix's wrists. It dug painful y into her skin and she winced. "Sorry, Pix," he said, then continued to address his wife. "As I was saying, Samantha was very clever and got two campers to confess to some of the pranks that have been occurring. Apparently, they were angry at being here and wanted to get sent home or that's how it started anyway. It actual y is rather funny.

They were responsible for the parade! Here we thought it was Duncan al this time.”

Valerie did laugh. "That is one on us, but it helped to tarnish his reputation. I probably didn't need to paint those sails—the mice and maybe the bird would have been enough with the parade. I ruined a perfectly good pair of pants for nothing."

“I do wish you had consulted me before that one." The change in Jim's voice was a grim reminder of the way he behaved when pushed to anger. "What if it hadn't come off?

Those sails are custom-made for us."

“If you had known, you wouldn't have been so convincing, sugar. Now I thought you were in a hurry."

“What can I be thinking of?" He hastened to bind Samantha.

The job done, complete with handkerchiefs over their mouths, he kissed his wife good-bye and ran down the stairs, but first he took Pix's car keys from her purse, apologizing. "We mustn't leave the car parked out front.

Sorry.”

Jim gone, Valerie had clearly had enough of the Mil ers' company and told them, "Now remember, my parents didn't play games with yours and I'm in no mood for any games with you. I can see everything that goes on in here, so don't try anything." She closed the door hard.

Trussed up like the proverbial Thanksgiving bird, Pix thought this virtual y impossible, nor was she planning on giving any indication like rol ing over and futilely trying to cut the rope by rubbing it on the slick paint of the desk leg.

Valerie alone was as dangerous as a wel ful of copperheads. Pix could hear her now: "Oops, sugar, the gun just kind of went off." Her wel manicured hands seemed able to support any number of deaths.

At least she was lying close to Samantha. Now she inched stil nearer. Her daughter had tears in her eyes and Pix could almost smel the fear coming from her body.

Every maternal nerve ached to comfort Samantha. She clenched her teeth, unclenched, and miraculously the handkerchief loosened. She tried it again. And again. Soon she was able to talk.

“Clench and unclench your jaw. I've been able to loosen the gag," she whispered.

Samantha went through similar contortions and after a while was able to whisper back, "What are we going to do?

Are we going to die?"

“No. Don't even think of it." Pix wanted to distract Samantha. "Now tel me what happened? What's in the closet?"

“Oh, Mom, there are stacks of those quilts. The ones with the blue X's— and more shelves ful of a lot of other antiques."

“What kinds?"

“Toys mostly—plastic Mickey Mouse figurines. Also some wooden carvings of animals. Oh, and one of a figure.

It looked like John the Baptist or someone like that from the Bible.”

Mickey Mouses. Pix could hear Earl's voice explaining just how they were faked. And the folk art, folk art similar to what was at Jil 's.

Mitch and the Athertons' business partners in marketing fake antiques—deadly partners for Mitch. They had kil ed him and used one of the phony quilts to bury him in. She'd been right. The marks indicated which were real and which were copies. They'd gotten sloppy about removing them. And Samantha had opened the door.

“But what did she mean about Duncan? And Mom, she kil ed her own husband!"

“I know, darling, it's beyond belief. Poor Duncan. Al this time he's felt responsible, and real y his mother was just waiting for him to go to sleep so she could push Bernard overboard" Pix shuddered. It was getting cooler as the sun dropped steadily toward the horizon. Obviously, it hadn't been only Jim who couldn't stand the sight of Duncan.

Valerie wanted him out of their lives, too, yet didn't want public opinion against them. Hence, Duncan the incorrigible. Duncan may have attacked Samantha, perhaps pushing her harder than he intended. Pix was ready to give him the benefit of the doubt, considering his parents. But the rest had been manufactured by them out of the boy's own unhappiness and depression. What a thing to do to a child!

She wouldn't have to bother asking Jim why he did it, though. She thought of his wine cel ar, the boats, al the expensive video toys, this whole "Mil ion Dol ar Mansion."

He may have been partly motivated by the love of a bad woman, but the real answer was the old tried and true "for the money." What he had inherited and what he made from the camp had evidently not been enough. The Athertons were al set to live the good life—until the Mil ers happened along.

Pix looked around the room. Even if she could get free of her bonds, there was nothing even remotely resembling a weapon, unless you were up for a pil ow fight.

They'd have to untie them enough to walk—that is if they were going to move them, and Pix was afraid they were. Left in the house, they might be found too soon and raise the alarm.

“Mom, can you think of anything? What would Faith do?”

Pix was stung. So far as she knew, Faith had never been bound and gagged. She'd probably do exactly what Pix was doing—try to keep her circulation going. She decided to ignore her daughter's remark.

After a while, Samantha asked timidly, "What time do you think they'l come back?"

“They said at dark. The sun set at eight-nineteen last night." Pix did know some things. She continued to parade her expertise. "I'd say they'l come back around nine.

They're obviously planning to leave by boat and they'l want to get a good start. This is deep water, so they don't have to consider the tide."

“Which gives us less than three hours."

“I'm afraid so "

“And no one to miss us. Arlene was leaving forEl sworth straight from work with Fred. They knew you wouldn't let me go. How about Granny?"

“I spoke to her this afternoon, so she wouldn't expect to hear from me again. I asked her to come over tonight, but she said she was tired and wanted an early night."

“If Daddy cal s, he'l think we went somewhere for dinner."

“And I talked to Faith just before coming over. That's what kept me”

Pix gasped, but Samantha quickly reassured her.

"Even if you'd been on time, it would have been too late.

She didn't have the check upstairs. The one thing that would have saved us was if the phone hadn't rung. Then 1

wouldn't have done such a stupid thing and opened the closet door. She must have been talking to Jim."

“Earl would have no reason to think it odd if we weren't home." Pix continued the litany with decreasing hope.

“And there's no one else."

“Only us.”