“Of course, one does sometimes come across a steal. But that's pretty rare these days.”
“What kind of antiques do you sell?” Pix asked.
“Early American furniture, some European; paintings before 1900; and clocks. I adore clocks.”
“My mother was just telling us about the Pilgrim chair hoax. You must have heard about it.”
“Oh, indeed. Such a scandal. Now I must rejoin my lovely hostesses. I believe Adelaide is getting tired. It's been quite a day.”
Pix watched his elegant back retreat into the darkness. Up close, she could see some extremely attractive muscles of the rippling variety under his thin silk shirt. The man kept himself in good shape. It was hard to say whether he knew the story of the hoax or not. A real dealer would, no doubt. And he was a real dealer, wasn't he?
“It has been quite a day,” Sam said contentedly, tucking into an enormous slab of strawberry-rhubarb pie. “I wouldn't miss this clambake for the world. Thank goodness we had a sensible jury.”
“Obviously, since they found in favor of your client.”
“That's what sensible meansâand they did it quickly.”
Pix looked at her own pie. She really wasn't hungry, but she began to eat it in a mechanical fashion that became less so as her taste buds awoke. It
had
been quite a day, and night. There had been that scene with the Athertons, then the talk with Earl and his tiff with Jill. She looked about the beach at the shadowy figures. Then there were all the things that might have gone on at the party that she didn't even know about.
“Let's get Samantha and start packing up ourselves. I want to check on the dogs.” Dusty, Artie, and Henry tended to run amok at gatherings like this and so had regretfully been left at home. “I don't know why having this much fun should be so tiring, but it is,” she added.
Sam nodded. “Something about the combination of sand, sun, and beer, I think. Where is Samantha, by the way?”
“I saw her with a group of kids by the bonfire a while ago. She was eating her lobster. I think I can still make her out. They're all singing old Everly Brothers songs with John Eggleston. That man has talents we've never suspected.”
“I'll make them sing âA Real Nice Clambake.' Louise always likes that. I think that
Carousel
was the sum total of her knowledge about Maine before she arrived here. It must have been a shock to find out that bait smelled and people didn't dance on the wharf.”
Sam went off down the beach in the direction of the fire and Pix started to assemble the stuff they'd brought. She knew the Fraziers hired some of the local kids to help clean up each year, so she didn't feel she had to stay any longer. Ursula called out to her as she was making the first trip to the car.
“Pix, are you leaving? May I beg a ride? Then I won't have to trouble the Moores.”
“Of course you can have a ride. I was planning to look for you. Sam is getting Samantha and they'll start back in his car.” As she spoke, husband and daughter came up the path with the rest of the Millers' belongings. Sam's song suggestion had been successful and he was singing along from afar: “The vittles we et were good, you bet! The company was the same.” His energetic performance contrasted with his daughter's lagging footsteps. She wasn't joining in, not even at her favorite part: “Fitten fer an angel's choir!” Pix was immediately concerned.
“Samantha, are you all right? You look a little wan. I hope you haven't picked up something from one of the campers, all those small children just loaded with germs.”
Samantha was quick to squelch any notions her mother might have of bed rest and herb tea.
“Mother! I'm fine. There's absolutely nothing wrong. No bugs, no microbes of any sort whatsoever.”
But she wasn't fine. Duncan's words continued to haunt her. She hadn't seen him come back to the beach and would be happy never to see him again. She needed to talk to Arlene.
If she wasn't home, she might be at Fred's house. The last thing Samantha wanted was her mother's eagle eye on her. She'd made plans for the evening while she sat staring into the flames of the bonfire, listening to everybody sing. Samantha didn't want to be watched at all.
Â
Ursula came straight to the point as usual. “What are you up to, darling? All those questions to Earl about phony antiques. And Mitch sold antiques, among his other trades. You're trying to find the answer to his murder, aren't you?”
It was the time-honored parental ploy for asking questionsâtrapping one's offspring in the car. Short of turning the wheel over to her mother and walking home, there was no way for Pix to escape.
“Don't be ridiculous,” she lied. “I'm just interested in the antiques business. You yourself said it was all âamazing,' if I recall correctly.”
“Hmmmm,” her mother replied, which left the conversation hanging until Pix could stand it no longer and started talking againâanother trick, and one Pix herself had used occasionally to her advantage with her own children.
“Anyway, I don't see how asking a few questions that may or may not relate to Mitchell Pierce's death can hurt anything.”
“But it can hurt somethingâyou, or dear Samantha, or Sam. We have all assumed the person who did this left the island after the terrible deed, yet it may not be so. I think you need to exercise some caution.”
“Stop worrying, Mother. I'm not going to do anything foolish.”
“I believe I've heard that before.”
Mother could, in fact, be very irritating. Pix saw her into the house, kissed her good night, and then took great pleasure in driving as fast as she dared up and down the hills across the island to her own cottage.
Sam was groggily reading the latest issue of
The Island Crier
by an unlighted hearth.
“Honey,” Pix asked immediately, “why don't you go up to bed? And where's Samantha? In her room?”
“Arlene and that pimply-faced boyfriend of hers came to get her for some kind of bonfire at his parents' camp. You know, where the Ames' areâdown near the bridge. Bert Ames is taking everyone in turns in his outboard to look at the underneath of the bridge by moonlight, all very safe and sound. I said yes and reminded her when curfew rang.”
Sam was feeling mellow and happy. Pix hated to destroy his mood. She ventured a tentative, “But Samantha did seem tired ⦔
“So she'll go to bed early tomorrow night or the night after. Besides, my little chickadee, this gives us a few precious moments alone, a rare thing, you may recall, these last twenty-plus years.”
There was something to what the man said. Samantha was young and healthy. And so were her parents.
An hour later, Pix was stretched out next to her sleeping husband. The only sounds she could hear were his heavy breathing, the soft wind in the trees, a far-off bullfrog, and her own heart pounding insistently in her ears as she lay in bed wide awake.
Â
Samantha Miller was not at Fred Ames's parents' camp. Neither was Arlene or Fred himself. They had put in a brief appearance for appearance's sakeânot long enough for a boat ride, to Samantha's regret. She loved seeing the long arch spanning the Reach from all vantage points, especially gliding underneath through the water, looking straight up. The bridgeâSanpere's connection to the mainland. To the outside world. There were still some people on the island who wished it had never been built and blamed it for everything from teenage rowdiness to the increase in traffic on Route 17.
“I can't believe he actually said that!” Arlene was nestled
close to Fred in the front of his pickup. Like his father, Fred planned to be a fisherman as soon as he graduated from high school next June. Also like his father, he planned to marry his high school sweetheart shortly thereafter. Things looked good. He and Arlene had been king and queen of the junior prom, which virtually ensured a long and happy life together, Fred believed. If she still wanted to go to college, fine. He didn't careâjust so long as she went as Mrs. Fred Ames.
Samantha was feeling a lot less frightened now that she'd told Arlene and Fred about the scene with Duncan. Sitting by the fire at the clambake, she'd decided she had to find out what he was up to. It could be nothingâor it could explain a lot of what had been happening lately. She had a feeling that after the fight with his parents, he wouldn't go home, but would gather his “club” together and do something. Arlene and Fred agreed. Fred had an idea where Duncan might be.
“There's an old cabin in the woods behind the camp that used to be a place counselors went on their days off in the olden times before Jim was the director and figured out it was the perfect place to screw. Maybe used it himself.” Fred laughed. Arlene made a face.
“It's gross enough to think of adults doing it, without having to think of Jim Atherton as a teenager.”
Samantha agreed and asked, “What about the cabin? Do you really think Duncan hangs out there? It's pretty near the camp. Wouldn't he want to get farther away?”
“That's what I've heard. Besides, the kid isn't old enough to drive. How far can he go? Though some of his loser friends are older and have cars. But I think he'd pick his own spot, something close to hand, and chances are he'll be there tonight. After what you described, he'd be nuts to go home. Doesn't spend much time in the mansion, anyway. My cousin worked on it and said Duncan's room was pretty cheesy compared to the rest of the place. Small and no Jacuzzi in the bath.”
“Well, no wonder the boy's disturbed,” mocked Arlene,
and they all laughed. It occurred to Samantha that she'd never heard Fred talk so much, and what he said made sense. Maybe Arlene knew what she was about.
“We can park on the road and go in the back way. I'm pretty sure I can find it.”
“You sound awfully familiar with the cabin yourself, Frederick Ames,” Arlene said.
“So, maybe we took some brews there once or twice on a cold winter's day,” he admitted, “but we never hurt anything. The place was pretty well trashed before we ever found it.”
He stopped the truck, got a flashlight from the glove compartment, and they started to walk silently through the woods. Samantha wasn't sure what she thought she would find, yet it seemed like a good idea at the time, and if she'd stayed at home doing nothing, she would have gone out of her mind. If nothing else, she'd provided Fred with some excitement for the night. He was as keyed up as if he was stalking a stag.
They almost missed the tumbled-down cabin. Evergreen boughs and fallen trees had been piled around it in an attempt at camouflage. In the dark, it was quite effective.
“Probably doesn't want his stepfather to notice it's still here when he's leading one of his hikes,” Arlene whispered.
“Sssh.” Fred put his hand over her mouth, expecting a kiss. The abruptness with which he pulled away told Samantha he got something else. Arlene was not easily shushed.
They crept up to the front of the cabin and could make out the door. It was closed and no light shone beneath it, nor at any of the windows.
“It doesn't look like he's here,” Samantha said. She was disappointed.
Fred switched on the flashlight and they went up the steps. A board was missing from one and Samantha's foot almost went through. She grabbed at the rickety railing.
“Be careful. This place is liable to fall apart like Lincoln Logs,” Fred warned.
They peered in the window, glass surprisingly still intact, unless Duncan had replaced it. It was pitch-dark and they couldn't see a thing. Fred shone the flashlight in and they could make out a heavy-metal calendar and a King Diamond poster on the far wall.
“What did you expect? Joey Lawrence? Come on, let's go in,” Arlene said.
The door was open. It appeared the cabin had never been wired for electricity. There were lots of candles around, especially on a low shelf just above a small footlocker. A table with an ashtray filled with cigarette butts, a couple of dilapidated chairs, and a mattress with a sleeping bag on top completed the decor. There were more posters on the walls: Kiss, AC/DC, and one with a winged skull. Fred walked over to the ashtray and sniffed at the contents. “Marlboros, nothing else. If he's got a stash, it's someplace else. Like in that trunk over there.”
The trunk had drawn Samantha's eye, too. So far, the room indicated perhaps a borderline unhealthy fascination with the occult and satanic music, yet nothing like upside-down crosses or inverted pentagrams to indicate the need for an emergency exorcist. Duncan seemed to spend his leisure time readingânot Proust or even
Catcher in the Rye
, but comic books. There was a stack of them next to the mattress. Arlene picked up a couple. “Look at this. The kid is really totally weird. I mean he's got
Ghost Rider
and
X-Men
mixed in with
Archies
. He doesn't know if he's six or sixteen.”