The Body In The Basement

Seven

Once when Mark Mil er had been about nine years old, he had inveigled his mother into trying out the new tire swing at the school playground. Somehow, Pix had gotten her feet caught in the rim and for what seemed like a giddy, reeling eternity was unable to stop or get off. The world whirled around. She was almost sick and momentarily terrified. As she pul ed into the Bainbridges' drive and opened her car door, she felt as if she was back on that swing.

Rebecca opened the door before Pix could knock. The sight of the grief-stricken old lady, pathetic in a worn flannel robe, her gray hair untidily sticking out in clumps around her face, brought Pix soundly back to earth. She put her arms around the woman and hugged her hard. "I'm sure there's some explanation for al this.

Maybe Addie had a quilt you didn't know about, felt cold, and got up to get it." It didn't sound especial y plausible, but it was something to say.

Rebecca shook her head. Tears had been fil ing the soft wrinkles of her cheeks ever since Pix had arrived and obviously for a long time before that.

Pix looked around the kitchen. Ever since she'd driven up, she'd had a sense something was wrong besides what was so obviously wrong, and now she knew what it was: No one was around. Where was Earl? Where were the B and B guests? The Bainbridges had countless relatives al over the island. Where were they?

Rebecca fol owed her glance. "Your mother thought I should cal Earl, but I just couldn't, so she said she'd do it. I couldn't cal anybody except her.”

Ladies like Rebecca and Adelaide did not get involved with the police. Wel , they were involved now. Pix wondered when Rebecca had discovered the body. But first things first. Rebecca appeared to be in shock.

“Let me make you some tea. Are you warm enough?”

It was already stifling hot again, but Rebecca was shivering. Pix took a jacket from one of the pegs inside the door and put it around Rebecca's thin shoulders. From the size, it must have been Addie's.

“Tea." She managed only the one word and Pix took it as a yes. After a moment, Rebecca finished the thought. "I was on my way to make our morning cups when I went in to check on Addie. She's been poorly lately and I wasn't sure she was awake or, if she was, whether she'd want any."

Rebecca sighed heavily. Pix could imagine what would have ensued if her sister-in-law had awakened Addie or brought her a cup of unwanted tea. Yet Addie had been Rebecca's main job in life for so many years, now what was she going to do?

“And there she was, al wrapped up like some kind of parcel. I went over and pul ed that strange quilt down. It was her feet first. Then I found her head and she wasn't breathing." Rebecca broke down completely and sobbed noisily. What was taking Earl so long? Pix wondered frantical y. She wanted to get Rebecca over to Mother's.

Ursula had obviously cal ed her daughter first so someone would be there to take care of Rebecca, but the best thing of al would be to get her with her old friend. Pix debated waking Norman. He had become so close to the two old ladies. She decided to let Earl handle things and put a mug of tea with lots of sugar in Rebecca's hand. The warmth of the liquid seemed to steady her. She stopped crying to take a few sips.

“Why don't you go up and say good-bye? They'l al be here soon and you won't have a chance”

It was exactly what Pix wanted to do, except she hadn't wanted to leave Rebecca, and it wasn't real y to say goodbye.

“Are you sure you'l be al right?”

Rebecca nodded and patted Pix on the hand. There seemed to be a lot of that happening lately. "You're a good girl. Now run up quick. I'l be fine here”

Adelaide's bedroom was a large one in the front of the house. Pix darted up the stairs, glad the rag runner was there to muffle her steps. She wasn't sure how many of the rooms were fil ed and she didn't want anyone waking up right now.

She turned the old glass doorknob slowly—Rebecca had already obscured any prints—and went in. At first, the room looked empty. The big old four-poster that had been in the family for generations had obviously been slept in, but no one was there now.

Then she saw the quilt. Rebecca had covered the body again. It was so close to the bed as to be almost underneath. Dark red patches in a spiral pattern stood out sharply against the white muslin background, which, as she bent down, she realized was not completely white. There was a second spiral, the material white, with the tiniest of red dots. Dots like pinpricks.

But there was no sign of any blue thread—in a cross or not.

Pix stood up to steel herself. She looked around the room. There was no sign of a struggle. Addie's comb and brush, along with several bottles of scent, Evening in Paris vintage, were arranged neatly on the embroidered dresser scarf gracing the top of the painted Victorian dresser that matched the rest of the furniture in the room. Her quilting frame and the quilt she'd been working on were in one corner, next to a chest fil ed with sewing supplies. When Pix was a child, Addie had let her play with the button box kept there. Pix suddenly realized she did want to say good-bye.

She'd been forgetting this was Addie, her friend. She got down close to the body and pul ed back the quilt—at the end she'd have expected the feet to be, after Rebecca's description.

It was horrible, and a more lengthy good-bye would have to wait for the funeral service. Rebecca must have assumed Pix wouldn't uncover the body. Adelaide Bainbridge had died in great agony. Her face was contorted in pain and there was a foul smel of vomit. Pix jumped up and headed for the door. This was definitely a police matter.

She almost col ided with Earl on the stairs. He put a finger to his lips, so it was obvious he didn't want the whole house roused yet. He also made it plain from a look of annoyance she'd never seen directed at her be fore that he wasn't pleased with her presence at the scene—or upstairs, at any rate. She passed him quickly.

“What wil they do now?" Rebecca asked tremulously as Pix reentered the kitchen.

Pix took the mug for a refil and decided to make herself some tea, as wel . Her legs were shaking and it was al she could do to answer Rebecca.

“I'm sure Earl cal ed the state police. They'l probably be here soon. They'l take pictures of everything and ask everyone who's here a lot of questions." She tried to keep her voice steady. It was going to be a bitch was what it was, but she couldn't say that to Rebecca Bainbridge with her companion of many years--and the object of the investigation—lying dead upstairs.

“I hope we can have the funeral tomorrow. Reverend Thompson wil do a beautiful service, I know, and Addie liked him so much better than Reverend McClintock, although I never minded him myself. It was the candles on the altar that did it. Addie stopped attending after that until he left." Rebecca was speaking calmly, even affectionately.

Pix decided to try to keep her going on the same track.

Now was not the time to suggest that a funeral tomorrow was extremely unlikely.

It was the calm before the storm. The state police and the coroner arrived in two cars and the guests were roused.

Pix was kept busy making tea and coffee. Norman Osgood seemed to be in almost as bad shape as Rebecca.

Besides Norman, there was a couple from Pennsylvania and a young woman from California. The Californian was in the smal downstairs room off the parlor the Bainbridges used when they were crowded. She was excited by the drama of it al , she told them breathlessly, bemoaning the fact she was such a heavy sleeper that she had missed everything. Pix was a bit puzzled by this last remark, then realized the woman believed if she had only managed to wake up, she could have caught the perpetrator single-handedly. The perpetrator. The whole thing was insane.

Someone going around kil ing people and then wrapping the bodies in quilts? A lunatic? A serial kil er? Who could possibly want to get rid of Adelaide Bainbridge? Pix needed to get to a phone. She had to cal Faith.

It was going to be quite a while before she would be able to chat with anyone except the police, she soon realized. First, they questioned Rebecca. Earl thought it might be a good idea for Pix to come with them, since Rebecca was unable to let go of Pix's hand and had sent an imploring look his way. The older woman had been bewildered by al the activity and had sat in a rocker in the kitchen, shrinking away at the arrival of every new stranger.

Adelaide had been sick for a couple of days, she told them, and was no better or worse the night before when she, Rebecca, had looked in on her before going to bed at about ten o'clock. The noise of the fireworks had kept them up a bit later than usual, Rebecca explained, and Addie had been a bit put out. Addie had first felt il Sunday night after the clambake. They had both assumed it was something she ate, then when it didn't go away, just a touch of summer sickness.

“Summer sickness?" Earl stopped writing for a moment. It was a new one to him.

“You know, the heat and some kind of bug. There's a lot going around." Rebecca seemed surprised that she'd had to explain.

“And she didn't go to the Medical Center?" he asked.

"No, Addie didn't hold much with doctors. Said they'd only send her up to Blue Hil for a lot of expen sive tests or tel her to lose some weight, which she already knew she needed to do and wasn't going to." She seemed to be repeating the words verbatim.

“And you didn't hear anything during the night?”

Rebecca shook her head and started to cry. "If only ..."

She couldn't finish. They waited for her to compose herself, which she did, finishing her sentence with "I had" and adding, "There was a bathroom off her room, so even if she was up in the night, I wouldn't have heard her in the back where I am. Sometimes I hear the guests, but after they al came in from the fireworks, I didn't hear a thing until this morning."

“And what was that?"

“Oh, the first birds and a cricket or two. It was stil dark.

Addie and I have always been early risers.”

Pix knew this to be true, but she hadn't known just how early. It made the Rowes, who carried some sort of puritanical gene that made sleeping beyond seven o'clock physical y impossible, look like layabouts.

“When you opened the bedroom door, what did you see?"

“Nothing"

“Nothing?" Rebecca was getting flightier as the questions went on, what with birds, crickets, and now this.

“There was no one in the bed or in the room. I thought she was in the bathroom and so I went in to cal to her. I didn't want to wake the others, of course. They do like their sleep. Why, we had a couple here last summer who didn't get up until noon every single day!"' Earl tried to lead her back to the matter at hand.

“You didn't see her, so you cal ed to her at the bathroom door?"

“Oh no, I didn't get that far. Why, you couldn't miss seeing that quilt, and I had no idea Addie was in it until I pul ed it off and then it was her feet first and I knew right away she had passed, because they were so stil ." The tears were running down her cheeks again.

“And you're sure this wasn't one of her own quilts or a quilt that's been in the house."

“Oh no, not a red-and-white one. Addie didn't like them. Said they looked too plain. Hers had lots of colors,"

Rebecca added admiringly.

“But isn't it possible the quilt was one someone else made and it's been in a drawer or trunk for a while?" Pix gave Earl credit. He knew the ways things happened in these entrenched families. She was sure there were things in the trunks in the attic at The Pines that neither she nor Mother had ever laid eyes on.

“No," Rebecca said firmly. "We cleaned out everything last fal and there isn't a trunk or drawer in the house and barn we didn't go through. Got rid of a lot of rubbish. Made some money from it, too. What people wil pay for worthless junk never fails to astonish me”

And that appeared to be that. Earl took Rebecca back to the kitchen and left her under Norman's care. Another state police officer was chatting with the guests. Her grandparents had come from the western Pennsylvania town where the couple had lived al their lives and they were having a grand time playing "What A Coincidence!" and

"Do You Know?”

After Rebecca was settled, Earl returned and said to Pix, "So your mother cal ed you first?"

“Yes, I think she wanted someone to be with Rebecca as soon as possible and I'm not that far away. I'd like to take Rebecca over to Mother's when you're finished. It must be very painful for her to be here”

Earl was shaking his head. "First, Rebecca doesn't cal me, then your mother waits God knows how long." He was taking it altogether much too personal y.

“They're old ladies. Even a policeman they know as wel as you is frightening at a time like this. I'm sure nothing was hurt by the slight delay”

The state police officer looked tired.

“We understand you went upstairs after you arrived."

His tone indicated it wasn't clear whether she'd be indicted or not.

“Yes. I wanted to say good-bye." Pix had the grace to lower her eyes.

Earl was getting impatient. "Look, we have to talk to the rest of the people. Pix, what do you make of al this business with the quilts? Beats me how there can be any connection between Mitchel Pierce and the Bain-bridges. I doubt he ever did any work for them. Addie wouldn't have trusted him."

“I didn't see any mark on this quilt. Of course I wasn't in the room long and most of it is wrapped around the body.

But I agree. I can't see a connection. Although"—she was thinking out loud—"Rebecca just said they sold a lot of things from the barn and attic. Maybe they sold some of it to Mitchel , except I don't know what that tel s us"

“Good thinking." Earl was scribbling hurriedly.

“Isn't it possible that a woman her age might forget about a quilt or two?" the officer asked. "There seem to be enough quilts in this house to cover half the beds in the county.”

Pix had thought of this, too—and Rebecca was definitely absentminded—but the fact that the quilts around both bodies were the same colors had to be more than a coincidence.

“It's possible—maybe even more than possible. I don't see any reason why you shouldn't take her to your mother's after we ask her about who they sold the stuff to. We'l go over there if we need her for anything. And where are you going to be?”

Pix was glad Earl wanted to stay in touch. She was sure he'd tel her if there was a cross on the quilt and maybe what had kil ed Addie when he knew. It was hard to believe from the expression on the woman's face that the death had been a natural one.

“After I leave Mother's, I want to go over to the camp and tel Samantha what has happened. She's probably wondering where I was this morning and I don't want her to hear the news from someone else. Then I'l go home."

“Okay, but no details at the moment. I know you know how to keep your mouth shut.”

Pix thought Earl intended this as a compliment. It also meant she was forgiven for going upstairs. The state policeman was not so cordial. He didn't even look up as she left the room.

Rebecca was stil in her night things, but it didn't take her long to change. She seemed relieved to be going to Ursula's. Pix had phoned her mother while Rebecca was getting ready to say they were on their way and admonished her to keep quiet about what had happened.

“It's a little late for that, dear. Half the island has seen the police cars in the drive. Gert told me that when she got here an hour ago and of course 1 had to tel her Addie was dead. I didn't mention the quilt, but it wil get out soon enough. These things always do.”

So much for shielding Samantha, Pix thought, but she resolved to stop by the camp, anyway.

Driving Rebecca over to Mother's. Pix was struck by the normalcy of the day going on al around her.

Vacationing families were beachcombing alongside the causeway. Someone was taking advantage of the influx of holiday visitors and having a yard sale. The UPS delivery truck barreled past in the opposite direction and old Mr.

Marshal sat on his front porch overlooking the brightly painted Smurfs, flamingos, posteriors of fat ladies in bloomers, and other tasteful lawn ornaments that he made for sale in his woodworking shop out back.

“Mother says you're to stay as long as you want," Pix said.

“I know, it's very kind of her, but I don't like to be away from my garden. In this weather, I have to water twice a day.

Addie always loved my roses." She was breaking down again. "Now I'l be putting them on her grave”

There was a lot Pix wanted to ask Rebecca. She'd said there hadn't been any strangers around this summer—

except for the guests, whom of course they didn't know until they'd been there a while—when Earl had asked her. But Pix wanted to ask about Norman and also whether the Bainbridges had sold anything to Mitch. This last, she was able to work in. Rebecca had quieted down again by the time they turned off the main road. The Pines was at the tip of a smal peninsula and often there was water on either side of them. The view of Eggemoggin Reach was spectacular at this point. Today it was fil ed with sailboats, moving slowly. There wasn't much more wind offshore than on. Pix had a sudden desire to be on one, cruising gently toward the Camden Hil s, watching the granite shore meander along below the tal evergreens. Sailing always bordered on voyeurism: a house at the end of a private road exposed for al to see, occupants of that special beach no one else had ever discovered forced to share the secret.

Rebecca was looking with an appraising eye out the window at the postmistress's flower garden.

“So, you and Addie had a real turnout last fal . I'm hoping to do the same with Mother at The Pines this summer. We have no idea what's up in the attic"

“Not in the heat, deah," Rebecca said anxiously. "You won't make your mother go up there now."

“Of course not. Only if it cools down." And besides, Pix added to herself, I've never been able to make Mother do much of anything.

“We may find there are things we want to get rid of, too," she continued. "Who did you get to take yours?"

Surely this was subtle and gentle enough. Pix felt a little guilty probing someone in the extremes of grief.

“It was Addie's idea." Typical y, Rebecca was answering some other question. "She had a horror that after she was gone, people would be going through her things. You know what it's like at those auctions.”

Pix did. She'd been to plenty of estate sales where Grandmother's letters to Grandfather were heaped in a box lot with the odd buttonhook and mismatched cups and saucers, but it had never struck her until now how awful this would be if you'd known the people. She resolved to winnow out her own mementos ruthlessly.

“But Addie wasn't planning on having an auction" Pix tried to keep Rebecca going.

“Mitchel Pierce was interested, you can imagine.

Addie met him in the IGA and told him she would sel him some things if he wanted”

It worked.

“What kind of things did he buy?"

“Rubbish. Addie got a good price. Do you know he gave us one hundred dol ars for an old yel ow painted shelf that's been in the barn ever since I can remember? It was fly-spotted and even had a chip out of the top!”

Pix recal ed an article in the paper about the skyrocketing value of country antiques, particularly those with their original paint. It sounded as if the Bainbridges had been wel and truly snookered.

Rebecca's next remark confirmed the impression. "He took al the junk. There were some dirty old blanket chests.

One even had the top off. And he wasn't even interested in our Wal ace Nuttings. I was beginning to think we knew more about antiques than he did.”

Pix pul ed the car alongside the dock into the grassy area that served as their parking area. "Wel , I'm glad to know al this and that you were able to make some money out of it. Did you do anything special with it?”

The last question popped out from she knew not where

—and it was none of her business.

Rebecca didn't seem to mind, answering directly for once. "Oh nothing special. Addie just liked having money.

À heavy purse makes a light heart,' she used to say.”

Along with several thousand others, Pix thought.

Ursula and Gert were waiting on the porch and as soon as they saw the car arrive, Gert ran down the steps to help Rebecca into the house. She was in good hands and Pix left soon after. She decided to head straight for the camp, although the fact that she had rushed out of the house so fast that she hadn't brushed her teeth or properly dressed—she'd thrown on a sweatshirt of Sam's with the sleeves cut off and a pair of shorts over her underwear and was glad she'd remembered this much—was beginning to bother her.

It was lunchtime and she walked into the dining room, where she soon spied Samantha pouring milk for a table of younger campers. She caught her eye and Samantha came straight over.

“Oh Mom, it's so sad! What wil Rebecca do now?

She'l be so lonely."

“Why don't we go outside for a minute. I'm sure it wil be al right.”

Samantha nodded and they walked toward the waterfront. The sails were sparkling white again—the extra sets. The red paint had turned out to be latex and those were being cleaned, so there was no great loss. Apparently it hadn't been the marine paint they used for the waterlines.

Pix was sure that Jim was relieved. It wasn't the money so much as the waste. She put her arm around her daughter's shoulders and they sat down on the dock. Samantha seemed extremely shaken by the news.

“How did you hear?"

“Gert cal ed Dot and she told us. Is it true that the police are there and there's something funny about the way she died?"

“The police are there, but it's not altogether clear whether anything's wrong. She was not in the best shape, avoided getting medical advice, and probably had a mil ion things wrong with her that she didn't know about. You know how short of breath she was. She could barely walk down and back to her own mailbox."

“I know. It's just ... wel , after the other thing, everyone's saying there's a kil er loose on the island.”

Pix drew her daughter close. "We can't leap to con elusions like that. There doesn't seem to be anything to connect the two events at the moment, except that both people died.”

And the quilts. But she didn't want to burden Samantha with that knowledge yet; besides, she was supposed to keep her mouth shut. A word to Samantha meant a word to Arlene, another Prescott, and it would be simpler to print up announcements and drop them from a plane over the entire island.

“It's not only Mrs. Bainbridge. Everything's stil going crazy at camp. There was a dead seagul on the dining room porch this morning when the breakfast crew arrived.

None of the kids saw it, thank goodness. Arlene said it was horrible."

“But these things happen—probably an injured bird who just happened to end up there."

“With its throat cut?”

Now Pix was shivering. Knives. Too many knives. "Are you sure?"

“Yes, and Arlene thinks it's Duncan again. I mean after what we saw—" Samantha stopped abruptly.

“After you saw what?" Pix had to know. This was obviously what Samantha had been keeping from her.

“Mom, I promise I'l tel you, but I can't now. I have to get back. The kids are very jumpy. They swear there's a ghost around, although I think that's some of the older campers trying to scare the little ones."

“How are your two imps?"

“Not exactly happy campers. Kids are so weird, Mom.

One minute everything is fine, the next they're imagining al sorts of gruesome things, especial y these two. I think maybe they are too young to be here. Anyway, al this is going to affect them for a long time. Susannah leaps a foot in the air if someone startles her, and she and Geoff are always off by themselves. At the moment they're feeding each other's fears. I can't even get them to tel their stupid jokes.”

Kids are so weird. The understatement echoed through the long tunnel of maternal memory. You never know, until you're there, Pix thought. Samantha was arriving sooner than her mother had.

“It's Parents' Weekend soon, isn't it? Maybe we should bring them to our house for a day, since they won't have visitors."

“That would be real y great, Mom. They need to be with the dogs”

Pix understood. There was nothing more therapeutic than a good rol in the grass with an overly affectionate golden retriever.

“I've got to go, and I'm sure you want to get home and change" Samantha clearly did not approve of her mother's choice of outfits.

“Honey, I was in a rush. I just grabbed what was on the chair."

“That's al right. I understand." To avoid more hand patting, Pix grasped her daughter's paw firmly in her own and pul ed her to her feet. They walked back toward the car together and were saying good-bye when, as luck would have it, Valerie came out of the director's office, a vision in a short Adrienne Vittadini brightly patterned sheath with a matching scarf tied carelessly around a broad-brimmed chapeau.

“Pix! I just heard about Adelaide Bainbridge. Come over to the house and tel me what happened. What a tragedy!”

Pix hesitated. She was curious about the fabled abode, but she wasn't real y dressed, or even combed sufficiently, and she wanted to get home to cal Faith.

She hadn't reckoned on Samantha's reaction.

Samantha clearly regarded an invitation to the Athertons'

"Mil ion Dol ar Mansion" as a command performance for those fortunate enough to be asked. She actual y poked her mother in the back.

“Wel , perhaps for a minute. I have to get home. Mother may be cal ing. Rebecca is over at her house.”

Valerie smiled brightly. "You come, too, Samantha, unless you are needed here.”

Crestfal en, Samantha admitted she should be inside helping with lunch.

“Another time." Valerie turned to Pix and said just loud enough for Samantha to hear and swoon, "You have the most precious thing for a daughter I ever did see." Valerie occasional y lapsed into the Kappa Kappa Gammanese expressions of her col ege and deb days in the real South.

“Thank you. We like her," Pix replied, then realized it sounded a little snippy and added, "We're going to miss her terribly when she goes off to col ege."

“You're so lucky having a daughter," Valerie commented wistful y as they went down the path connecting the Athertons' house to the camp. "But then, you have sons, too." Her voice was ful of commiseration. Pix was tempted to say they had never put them through the kind of hel Duncan seemed to be inflicting on his parents, yet it seemed inappropriate to gloat, and Danny was stil young.

Pix was loath to make any predictions—or say anything out loud—that might jinx things.

Valerie led her into the huge living room with teak-paneled wal s soaring to a cathedral ceiling. The shape of the room—it swept forward, fol owing the lines of the bluff on which it was situated—and al the wood made Pix feel as if she was in a boat, a very spectacular boat, and that must have been the architect's intent. She admitted inwardly that she was indeed envious. The house was gorgeous. Every plate-glass window framed a spectacular view. One set looked straight out to sea, another to the cove. Jim's boats, including the souped-up lobster boat he'd recently purchased, were picturesquely moored there.

It looked like July on a Maine-coast calendar. The fireplace was as stunning as Samantha had described. Pix noticed a large photo on the mantel of a handsome smiling man with his arm around a much younger, and happier, Duncan.

Valerie fol owed her gaze. "My first husband, Bernard Cowley. Duncan looks a bit like his father. I wish he could act like him. Buddy was a saint. I don't think I'l ever stop missing that man. Of course," she added quickly, "Jim is just about the nicest thing on two feet I've ever met, but you never get over something like this, and Jim understands."

“It must have been a terrible time for you and your son"

“It was—and if I hadn't met Jim, I don't know how I would have survived. Coming here was just what I needed and I know Duncan wil settle down" Valerie did seem genuinely happy, more so than Pix had noted recently.

Maybe things were going better with her son. Certainly it would be hard to be depressed in these surroundings. Most of the furniture in this room was modern, with a few wel -

chosen antiques: a softly burnished cherry card table, a child's Shaker chair, and an enormous grandfather clock, the sun and the moon slowly changing places above a stately schooner on the face. Scattered about in what Pix was sure was not a haphazard fashion were old brass navigational devices, a col ection of Battersea enameled boxes, and other conversation pieces.

“Now tel me about poor Adelaide while I make coffee.

I think there are two of those devastating muffins from that bakery in Blue Hil left. I swear Jim and Duncan devour whatever goodies I bring into this house like a swarm of locusts.”

Pix begged off. The locusts could feast on her devastating muffin. She real y had to get home, so she quickly gave a brief account of Adelaide's death.

“I didn't actual y know them wel , but Jim and his family had," Valerie said. "Poor old lady. She did kind of let herself go, if you know what I mean.”

Pix looked at the svelte figure graceful y draped across the leather couch before her and did indeed. Valerie Cowley Atherton would never let herself go. Pix saw her twenty years hence with face as smooth as plastic surgery could make it, body as trim as aerobics and a diet of lettuce and Perrier would supply.

She left and promised to return for a ful tour of the house.

“It's beautiful, Valerie, and everything you've done is perfect"

“Thank you" Her hostess flashed a wel -satisfied smile.

"I've always wanted to live in a modern house. Buddy's family, bless their hearts, would have a conniption over this place. The Cowleys are an old family and they never let anyone forget it. You can't imagine the inconvenience they put up with in order to stay authentic!”

Pix laughed. She had often heard Faith on the same subject with regard to New Englanders. She hoped the heat was breaking in Aleford, although it wasn't here. She stil felt guilty about the question of air conditioning at the parsonage.

“I can imagine. I'm afraid in my family, we may tendin this direction ourselves. Thank you for showing me the house. I'l take a rain check on the coffee."

“Bring Sam. We'l make it something else and al go into the hot tub," Valerie cal ed after her. Pix waved goodbye. You'd have to put a gun to Sam's head to get him to disport in that kind of revelry.

A hot tub sounded particularly unappetizing at the moment. A cold shower would be more like it. The temperature was up over ninety again. No one could remember such a long stretch of searing hot days.

But everything, including bodily comfort, took a backseat to her most important task; she was rewarded by Faith's answer on the second ring. What was more, Ben was at a friend's house and Amy was napping.

Faith was shocked at the news. "I know who Addie Bainbridge is. She's the fat one who runs the bed-and-breakfast and makes those incredible quilts, right? Her sister—what's her name again? She lives with her."

“Yes, except it's her sister-in-law. She's a Bainbridge, too, Rebecca. They've lived together for over thirty years."

“Oh, the poor thing. What wil she do now?"

“Her main worry at the moment, besides getting Adelaide buried, is keeping her garden watered, so I think she'l be al right. She's got something to focus on. Then, too, she may not real y be taking it al in. Rebecca's always been a bit scatterbrained and it's become more pronounced recently."

“Total y gaga?"

“I wouldn't go that far, definitely bordering on eccentricity though."

“Wel , so are most of the people I know, including you.

There's nothing wrong with that, but what is going on up there? I think I'l pack up the kids and come this weekend.

There has to be a connection between the two quilts. Let me know as soon as you find out whether there's a mark on the latest one and what kil ed her."

“I wil —and it would be lovely to have you here" At least Pix thought it would be, wouldn't it? A tiny voice was whispering that these were her murders, but she valiantly ignored it.

“The only problem is, we promised to go to Tom's sister's for a big family picnic, since everyone couldn't get together on the Fourth, and you know how they are about these things.”

Pix did know, having listened to Faith to these many years. Fairchild gatherings were sacrosanct, as wel as invariable. They were a family that celebrated—birthdays, major holidays, and then their own specific South Shore rituals: First Spring Sunday Raft Races on the North River, Al -Family Autumn Touch-Footbal Saturday, and so forth.

Faith's own family had tended toward less strenuous fetes, such as taking the children to the tree at the Metropolitan Museum of Art or shopping for Easter dresses at Altman's, fol owed by lunch in the store's Charleston Gardens restaurant. Pix wasn't sure what her own family did al those years, because they were much too busy.

“Maybe you can come up the fol owing weekend."

Things should certainly be sewn up by then, which brought her back to the quilts.

“I told you the quilt I bought is a fake, right?"

“No, but I know you've suspected as much. Have you heard about the one found with Mitchel Pierce's body?"

“No, Earl hasn't said anything. They'l probably send the one around Addie to Augusta for testing, too.

By the way, the Bainbridges sold Mitch a lot of antiques, things they thought were worthless, although I'm sure they were anything but. Maybe Addie discovered that she had been swindled, but that would mean she'd be angry at Mitch, not somebody at her. But she might have had a reason for wanting him dead, except I can't imagine her kil ing him. In fact, it would have been a physical impossibility for her to transport his body, let alone dispose of him in the first place."

“Could the sister-in-law have helped?”

Pix was stunned. "Rebecca! God, no. I don't think she even swats flies."

“I think what you need to do is sit down and make some of your lists. You're so good at that. You know the kind they do in al those British detective stories. There's got to be some link you're missing.”

Pix had been thinking al morning that she hadn't exactly been bringing the organizational skil s that propel ed her to the fore of every cause in Aleford to bear on this situation. It wasn't just making some lists, although that might help. She planned to sit her daughter down as soon as she came home and find out what she knew. And the same with Mother. It wasn't going to be easy, but somebody had to do it.

“I'm going antiquing again," she told Faith, ful of plans and energy now. "Maybe Jil wil come along. I want to find out if there are any more of those quilts around. Perhaps the police can trace them. We'l go up toward Bar Harbor—

and Sul ivan."

“That's where Mitch was living, right?"

“Yes. Maybe I should talk to his landlady. I could pretend I was looking for a place for a friend to stay.”

Pix was learning fast, Faith realized with a twinge. If she wanted to be any part of this, she'd have to get up to Sanpere as soon as possible. Damn the Fairchild fun and games, she thought guiltily.

Looking out the window over her struggling squash vines to the imperturbable line of firs beyond, Pix wished life on Sanpere would return to normal. She told Faith about the paint on the sails, adding, "And don't say a word about red sails in the sunset."

“It never crossed my mind," Faith lied. "It's more red and white, though”

Pix hadn't thought of that. Things were becoming more complicated by the minute.

Amy was waking up. Faith heard soft little coos that would soon become bel ows of rage. She told Pix, who remembered the scenario al too wel .

“Cal me as soon as you find out anything more"

“I wil ," Pix promised. "Oh, one last thing." She couldn't hear the baby yet, so Faith had a few seconds more. "Jil and Earl have apparently split up and Jil has been going around with Seth Marshal ."

“That's a surprise. Seth is al right, but he's not what I would cal husband material. Who left whom?"

“Jil , according to Earl, and he's as puzzled about it as I am. Jil is very touchy this summer. I haven't felt that I could ask her what's going on."

“Definitely invite her to go on your little jaunt”

Pix laughed and suddenly perversely wished Faith were on Sanpere.

“Talk to you soon."

“Bye-bye”

As soon as she put the phone back in the cradle—it was an old black dial phone that 'no one wanted replaced

—she remembered she had completely forgotten to tel Faith that Seth had planned to pour the foundation today.

Maybe she'd go over there with Samantha before dinner. At the moment, she wanted to get to work. She felt more like her old self now that she had a plan. The tire swing was receding into memory.

She couldn't talk to Mother so long as Rebecca was there, but she should cal to check in. Gert answered. Her mother was napping and Rebecca was sleeping, too. Earl had sent Dr. Harvey from the Medical Center over and he had given her a mild tranquilizer. The police had roped off the Bainbridges' house and the guests had moved on, leaving addresses, except for Norman, who was now staying at the Inn. Norman. It occurred to Pix that he probably would have given his eyeteeth for some of the rubbish the Bainbridges had disposed of so blithely last fal .

She wondered why Addie had gotten it into her mind to clear things out then—intimations of mortality, or simply wanting a heavier purse? And for what? She made quite a bit of money with her quilts and it wasn't as if she was a lavish spender. If she'd traveled as far as El sworth in the last ten years, Pix would be surprised, so Paris or cruises to the Caribbean were not the incentive.

The last thing Gert told her was that Addie's body had been taken away for the autopsy and the police hoped to be able to release it for a funeral by Saturday or Monday at the latest.

It was horrible to think about. Pix went into the kitchen and made herself a tuna-fish sandwich, taking the time to toast the bread. She grabbed a pad of paper, poured some milk, and went out on the deck to get to work.

Samantha came home just as she got to the fourth heading for the columns she'd neatly folded: "Suspects."

The others were "Who Benefits?"; "Causes of Death"; and

"Quilts."

“I'm out here on the deck," Pix cal ed. "Come join me.

There's tuna fish if you want a sandwich.”

Samantha came directly.

“Wel , wasn't it fabulous?”

Pix was tempted to tease her daughter and ask what was fabulous, but obviously the subject was too important.

“Fabulous is exactly the right word," she told her, "and I was even a little jealous. The view is spectacular and the house is in exactly the right spot"

“ À little jealous,' the view! Oh, Mother, what about the fireplace, the furniture, and that rug! Valerie had it woven to order when she couldn't find one the right size with the colors she wanted.”

Pix remembered the rug. It went from dark to light blue, with every possibility in between. It looked like the sea and the sky in every conceivable light. But what she wanted to do now was talk to her daughter about what she wasn't tel ing dear old Mom, not discuss Grecian versus Roman shades or any of the other fine points of interior decorating.

She decided to be direct; besides, she couldn't think of another way.

“You started to say something about Duncan at the camp and told me you'd explain later. It's later now”

Samantha saw the look in her mother's eye and knew she meant business. Any attempt at avoidance would mean being nagged for days. It was best to get it over with. She plopped down in one of the canvas sling chairs from the fifties that her grandmother had happily donated and told her mother everything about Duncan, starting with the conversation in the woods during the clambake.

Pix was aghast. "The boy is clearly disturbed. He needs help. We have got to tel his parents"

“Mom, Arlene says they've taken him to a mil ion shrinks. I'm sure they know he's got problems. I mean, look at the way he treats them."

“But I doubt they're aware of his `club.' " Pix was torn.

She real y didn't know what to do. Jim Atherton's response had been so harsh. She hated to think she might be responsible for the boy's being struck again—or sent to the military school, which appeared to be the next course of action. And she real y wasn't acquainted wel enough with Valerie to gauge her reaction. John Eggelston had come to Duncan's defense. Maybe the best thing would be to talk to him.

Samantha was speaking. "It's like I feel sorry for him and hate him at the same time. I don't want to get him in trouble, but maybe you're right."

“Don't say like," Pix said automatical y. "Why don't I tel al this to John? He knows Duncan and he also seems to know a lot about teenagers.”

Samantha brightened. "That's a great idea. Maybe he can talk to al three of them together. He's done that for some other kids who are having problems at home here.”

Duncan Cowley disposed of, Samantha wanted an update on what was going on at the Bainbridges. Pix gave her the PG-13 version and soon Samantha headed for her room to write letters to Aleford friends. There was a lot to tel .

Pix went to the phone to cal John. She was more disturbed about Duncan's behavior than she wanted Samantha to know and the sooner someone talked to the Athertons, the better. As she dialed, she realized Duncan had to be added to the list of suspects. He was clearly drug-involved and might have graduated from mice and poultry to larger game.

John answered immediately. He sounded cheerful.

"Hel o, Pix. I just sent off a large piece to a congregation in Australia."

“Congratulations"

“And I accept them. I've been working on this altarpiece for several months. Now, what can I do for you?"

John was not one for idle chitchat.

He was completely quiet as Pix related what Samantha had told her.

“And I don't know whether I should talk to Valerie and Jim, try to talk with the boy first, or what. You know him better than we do and I thought you'd have an idea about what would be best to do"

“Poor Duncan. He has never been al owed to grieve properly for his father. He feels responsible, you know. They were caught in a terrific storm and had al been taking turns at the helm—or rather, Bernard and Valerie were. Duncan was sitting up with his father to help him stay awake while his mother got some rest. The child became exhausted himself and agreed when his mother suggested he sleep for a while. That's when Bernard Cowley was washed overboard."

“How horrible!"

“I knew Duncan was fascinated with certain aspects of the occult. It's a way to make himself feel powerful, but I didn't think it had gone this far."

“The whole thing is terribly sad. I'm sure his parents wil understand."

“Maybe and maybe not. Jim is a pretty straight arrow and I'm sure any suggestion of witchcraft wil have him on the phone to that school he's always threatening Duncan with. Not that I blame Jim. .He walked into a pretty hopeless situation. There was no way Duncan would ever have accepted him."

“But we can't simply ignore this and hope it goes away.

Some night, one of the kids is going to get hurt or worse up in the quarry."

“I agree. I'm not suggesting we ignore the matter. Let me handle it. I'l talk to Valerie in private without getting too specific. This worked after Duncan took her car earlier in the summer. The main thing I'l do is start seeing more of the summer. The main thing I'l do is start seeing more of Duncan. I've been so involved in this commission that I haven't had time for him these last months. He likes to come to the workshop. I'l go see if I can round him up right now. I have the feeling it won't take much to start him talking. We've talked a great deal about the supernatural before. I've lent him some books, so he won't think it odd if I bring it up.”

Pix felt relieved, although she would have thought the Hardy Boys or, since the boy was interested in other worlds, perhaps Tolkien, more appropriate for John to have suggested.

“Thank you so much, John. And let me know how things go."

“Thank you for tel ing me." He'd been speaking in a serious tone of voice and now it took on almost a warning note. "You've had a pretty ful plate and I'm sure it hasn't been pleasant. And then there's this business with the Bainbridges. I hope you're not getting too involved."

“Involved?"

“Like that friend of yours—Faith. There are things about the island better left alone. I know you summer people think it's paradise, but paradise has a dark side, too, remember.”

Pix was stung by his remark: "summer people" She'd thought they were better friends, and even his closing words did not mol ify her.

“I just don't want anything to happen to you. I care about al the Mil ers deeply. You know that. Bow out, Pix. Bow out."

“Don't worry. Nothing is going to happen. I'l let Samantha know about what we're doing and if either of us finds out anything more, we'l let you know”

She hung up feeling much less satisfied than she had earlier in the conversation. She walked back out to the deck and picked up her list. How wel did she know John, anyway? Loaning books about the occult and supernatural to Duncan? John was a very colorful, at times charismatic figure. He had a great deal of influence over the youth of the island, most especial y Duncan Cowley, it seemed. Maybe too much? And what kind was it exactly? Mitchel Pierce had stayed with John. She had to find out why Mitch left.

She put it on the "To Do" list.

With Samantha occupied with her own writing tasks, Pix got out the folded paper and started to fil in the columns. Under "Suspects," she decided to list everyone, no matter how far-fetched, starting with Mitchel 's death.

There weren't many. Duncan Cowley, the knife wounds were suggestive of some sort of ritual slaying. Seth Marshal , just because he had access to the spot and could pour the foundation when he pleased. John Eggleston, because he might have nurtured some sort of grudge since Mitchel had lived with him or because Mitchel had found something out about John during that time. Norman Osgood. These were far-fetched, but she had to put something down. Osgood might have had some kind of fal ing-out with Mitch over antiques. Last, she wrote down Sonny Prescott's suggestion: unknown partners in crime. Of course, others could be known ones, yet as she jotted down this final possibility, she was forced to admit it made the most sense.

Now Adelaide—If, in fact, she had been murdered.

The only thing pointing toward foul play was the quilt. She went over to the "Who Benefits?" column. Adelaide may have left at least part of her estate to her nieces and nephews. Seth Marshal was a nephew. She wrote him down. Who else? Norman Osgood again? Although if he was hoping to do a book with her, that wouldn't make sense. But he was there. Maybe Addie had found out something about him. She wasn't known for her reticence.

Pix considered the other bed-and-breakfast guests and reluctantly ruled them out. Unless they were seriously deranged people, which the police were no doubt checking, she couldn't come up with any motives.

She listed Seth under "Who Benefits?" with the initials A. B. after his name. She couldn't think of any way he would benefit from Mitch's death, unless Mitch was blackmailing him. Mitch a blackmailer: It was a thought. He had been charming and eminently likable, but if desperate for money, he might have done anything. He certainly hadn't shied away from other crimes. Except he hadn't been desperate for money. He'd had a huge bank account and it was the result of what? As Jil suggested he might have made a kil ing—strike that phrase—a huge profit from the sale of something. Then again, he might also have been blackmailing someone, or more than one person. Pix sighed. She wasn't getting anyplace. Maybe you had to be in a large English country house staring out the window at the hedgerows. But at least she had a list. She'd get Mother to find out about Addie's wil . Rebecca surely must know.

“Causes of Death." Mitch was stabbed and Addie's was unknown at the moment. She'd like to cal Earl, yet she had a feeling she'd do better to wait. It was certainly too soon to know anything and she thought he probably wouldn't take kindly to being hounded right now. She remembered the look on Adelaide's face and the stench.

The woman had obviously been violently sick and the police might have found further signs in the bathroom—al of which pointed to poison of some kind. Addie had been sick for days and Pix recal ed the graphic account of her symptoms. What did one have to do with the other? Was her il ness merely a coincidence? Poison. This made absolutely no sense. Things like this didn't happen on Sanpere.

Then there were the quilts, two red-and-white quilts.

Three quilts, including Pix's purchase with the disappearing mark. She would cal Earl later to find out whether there was a cross on Adelaide's. It would be impossible to sleep otherwise. She also wrote down sails. As Faith had pointed out, they were red and white, too. Sails were made of cloth, so were quilts. Quilts and sails. Sails and quilts. Mitch had been wrapped in Drunkard's Path. Could there be some connection between the name of the quilt pattern on Addie's and her death? Pix closed her eyes and concentrated on remembering the spirals she'd seen that morning. She drew a square at the bottom of the page and fil ed it in as best she remembered: two pinwheel shapes, the tiny dotted fabric alternating with the red. She'd go through her quilt pattern books after supper and try to find the name.

It wasn't much of a list, not up to her usual standards.

But it was a beginning. She went to the bottom of the stairs and cal ed to Samantha to come for a walk with the dogs.

They al needed to get out.

For once, Samantha was staying home. After an early supper of toasted cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, one of the Mil er family's favorite repasts, the phone rang.

During the course of a lengthy conversation, Pix heard Samantha tel Arlene she was tired and ask her how about the fol owing night. The phone rang again as Pix was getting out her quilting books. It was Ursula. Rebecca had agreed to stay the night, since Earl had promised to water the garden. So that's where he was, Pix thought. She'd been trying to reach him.

She started to ask her mother about Adelaide's wil and how big the estate might be, but Ursula cut her off, obliquely indicating Rebecca had attached herself limpet like and was at Mrs. Rowe's side every waking moment.

“I understand completely. Poor Rebecca! I know you can't say anything, but could you find out if she has any further thoughts about where that quilt might have come from'? And perhaps see if she knows what the provisions of Adelaide's wil are?”

Even though her mother would not be able to comment at length, Pix had expected a note of disapprobation to sound in her reply—Pix was prying—but Ursula said in an even tone, "Good idea, dear. I'l do that.”

It amounted to approval. Addie's death had changed things and it might just be that Mother was on the trail, as wel .

It was much too hot for a fire in the fireplace, but they sat in front of it, anyway, Pix with her quilting books and Samantha curled up on the couch with E. B. White. She was rereading Charlotte's Web, as she did every summer.

Charlotte had finished saving Wilbur's life the first time and Samantha stood up and stretched. She real y was tired, yet that was not why she'd put Arlene off until tomorrow. Fred wanted to go back to Duncan's and check out the trunk. He was convinced Duncan was responsible for what was going on at the camp, including the dead gul .

Arlene also hinted that Fred thought Duncan might be responsible for the other bizarre things happening on the island. "Fred's good and steamed," she'd told Samantha.

Samantha was afraid he might be right and she, too, thought they'd better look around the cabin some more, but she just couldn't handle it after everything that had happened today. She'd known the Bainbridges al her life and Addie had always been nice to her. At the moment, al Samantha wanted to do was read about Charlotte, Wilbur, and Fern until she fel obliviously asleep.

Pix found the pattern shortly after midnight. It had become an obsession. Samantha had long since gone to bed. Pix, though, remained wide awake and when the design jumped off the page at her, she was jolted into even-greater consciousness. Her mother's earlier words regarding Mitchel Pierce's kil er came immediately to mind. Whoever was responsible was not simply evil, but nasty.

The name of the pattern was End of Day.