The Body in the Basement (22 page)

Read The Body in the Basement Online

Authors: Katherine Hall Page

“That's wonderful. All the profits go to the scholarship fund for kids from fishing families, which really helps the island. Those women are amazing. Think of all that peeling.”
But Pix was not thinking of peeling potatoes or any other vegetables. She was thinking of what Earl would say. Seth Marshall was standing next to them, obviously waiting for an invitation. Jill gave it.
“You said there was room, didn't you, Pix? Why don't you sit down, Seth.” The woman actually patted the blanket. It wasn't that Pix disliked Seth. It was just not the way things were supposed to be. And come to think of it, Seth wasn't exactly flavor of the month.
He appeared to realize this and eyed his hostess a bit warily as he sat down.
“You do know we're pouring tomorrow,” Seth said.
“Yes, Earl told me this morning. I'll be there at seven. That about right?”
“You don't really need to be, unless of course you want to,” Seth added hastily.
With the start in sight, Pix was feeling generous. “Don't worry, I'm not going to hang around all the time. I just want to see the foundation go in and call Faith.” It was the least she could do.
“No problem,” Seth replied.
Pix sighed. She had the feeling she'd be hearing this phrase often in the weeks to come. And Seth was also sitting awfully close to Jill. In the moonlight, his resemblance to to one of Captain Kidd's mates was even more pronounced. Maybe Jill found him romantic. Pix thought him hirsute—and suspect. She started to think what he could possibly gain from Mitch. ell Pierce's demise—she'd never been happy with Seth's explanation
for being at the site—when a long shadow fell across the blanket.
“May I join your party?” Norman Osgood asked. Pix was delighted. She might have the chance to work in some of her questions, although with Jill and Seth around, it might be hard to steer the conversation toward Mitchell Pierce. Jill had made it plain that she didn't want to hear anything at all about the subject whenever Pix had referred to the event.
“Are Addie and Rebecca watching from their lawn?” Pix asked.
“No, Addie is still not feeling well and she needs Rebecca. I suggested they go over to the Medical Center or at least call a doctor, but Addie won't hear of it.”
“According to my mother, neither lady has ever had any contact with the medical profession,” Seth said.
“That's amazing.” Norman was astonished. “At their ages. Not even tonsils?”
“If they did have them out, the doctor did it in the kitchen, and since that meant a boat trip in Addie's case, it might never have been done.”
Norman was still shaking his head when the first rocket went up and they all said “Aah.”
A huge golden chrysanthemum shape filled the sky and the petals dropped slowly toward the sea, leaving trails of golden sand. The show was spectacular. The finale was positively orgasmic and the cries of the crowd grew louder and louder as bursts of color and sound exploded overhead. Then suddenly, it was finished and only smoke hung in the air like dense fog.
Norman sighed happily. “That was wonderful. I love fireworks, especially over the water. I was in a boat on the Hudson for the Statue of Liberty display in 1986. Sublime, but this came close.”
“Have you lived in New York City all your life?” Pix asked as a way of starting her inquisition.
“No, my dear, I haven't, however you'll have to wait for the tale, which is a lengthy and enthralling one. I told the Bainbridges I'd be back as soon as the show was over, and I am a little concerned about Adelaide. She hasn't been eating, and you know how she enjoys her table.”
Something must be wrong indeed, Pix thought. “Please call me if there's anything I can do. Maybe my mother could convince her to call a doctor.”
“I doubt that the Almighty Himself could convince Mrs. Bainbridge to do anything she didn't want to do, but if I think otherwise, I'll call. Thank you.”
Pix had the peculiar feeling that Norman had become closer to the Bainbridges than she was—two people she'd known all her life.
Seth picked up on it, too. “Who do you think is adopting who?”
“I'm not sure,” Pix said. “Maybe it's mutual.”
Jill jumped up and said she was exhausted after her busy day. “All I want to do is collapse.” Pix said good-bye to them both and slowly began to fold up her blanket as she watched the crowd disperse—as she watched Jill and Seth go into The Blueberry Patch together.
 
Duncan Cowley was lying on the mattress in his secret cabin, staring up at the rafters. Long-ago inhabitants had carved their names and various epitaphs into the wood. He'd painted over the ones on the walls in disgust at such sentiments as “Maine Sail Camp. I pine for yew.” He was disgusted tonight, as well—and angry. What a bunch of pussies. They knew how important the full moon was and still his friends had deserted him for some stupid fireworks.
The cabin glowed with the candles he'd lighted. He looked at his watch. It was still too early. He closed his eyes yet knew he wouldn't sleep. Restless, he got up and went over to the trunk.
He'd just have to do it alone.
 
 
It was a long wait until midnight. Pix had been tempted to call Faith but didn't want to bother her. If she was home, she'd be weary after working the holiday. She hadn't had a chance to tell Faith about the blood red sails at the camp. Amy had diverted her mother's attention just as Pix had remembered she hadn't mentioned the incident to Faith. She'd call tomorrow. Telling Faith what was going on was making things clearer, or, if not clearer, making Pix feel better.
She did call Sam, to make sure he'd gotten home all right. She missed him more than ever when she hung up. Finally, she got into bed with the latest issue of
Organic Gardening
and tried to get interested in mulch. When Samantha did get home, just before the stroke of twelve, Pix called out to her daughter to come say good night.
“Weren't the fireworks awesome? The best ever.” Samantha had clearly had a good night. Pix felt less worried.
“Truly awesome,” she agreed. “Whom were you with?”
“Oh, the usual people—Fred, Arlene, their friends. How about you?” Samantha sounded slightly anxious.
Oh no, Pix thought, don't tell me Samantha is starting to worry about poor old Mom. The way I do, a still-deeper voice whispered.
“We had quite a crowd on the blanket. I was by the library. Jill, the antiques dealer who's at the Bainbridges, some others.” Pix didn't care to get more specific. Samantha was hoping to be a junior bridesmaid at Jill and Earl's wedding.
“That's nice, Mother.” Her daughter actually patted her hand. “Now I see you've got your usual exciting bedtime reading, so I won't keep you from it a minute longer.”
“Don't you patronize me. And where's my kiss!” Pix grabbed Samantha for a hug. Sam had given them all magazine subscriptions last Christmas:
Organic Gardening
renewed for his wife,
Sassy
for his daughter, and the
Atlantic Monthly
for his mother-in-law. There they were in a nutshell.
Pix drifted off to sleep. Maybe this was a new way to categorize
people. She'd have to talk about it with Faith
—The New Yorker,
obviously. And who else? Valerie Atherton,
House Beautiful,
without question, and Jim,
Boys' Life.
Jill? Not
Modern Bride,
not yet anyway.
She thought she was still thinking about magazines, then realized that dawn was streaking across the sky outside in shades of burnt orange and magenta. The phone was ringing. She grabbed the receiver in a panic. Nobody called this early. It was just over the edge of night.
“Pix, Pix, are you awake?”
It was Mother.
“What's wrong? What's happened? Are you all right?” Pix ignored the obvious question. Of course she was awake.
“I want you to get over to the Bainbridges as fast as you can. Addie's dead.”
Pix was momentarily relieved. “Oh dear, Mother, what sad news, yet I suppose with this weather, her age and all that weight, it—”
“Rebecca found her on the floor of her bedroom with an old quilt Rebecca's never seen before wrapped around her—a red-and-white quilt.”
“I'll be there as soon as I can.”
Once when Mark Miller 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 pulled into the Bainbridge's 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 all this. Maybe Addie had a quilt you didn't know about, felt cold, and got up to get it.” It didn't sound especially plausible, but it was something to say.
Rebecca shook her head. Tears had been filling 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 all over the island. Where were they?
Rebecca followed her glance. “Your mother thought I should call Earl, but I just couldn't, so she said she'd do it. I couldn't call anybody except her.”
Ladies like Rebecca and Adelaide did not get involved with the police. Well, 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, all wrapped up like some kind of parcel. I went over and pulled 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 frantically. She wanted to get Rebecca over to Mother's. Ursula had obviously called her daughter first so someone would be there to take care of
Rebecca, but the best thing of all 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'll all 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 really to say good-bye.
“Are you sure you'll be all 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'll 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 filled 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 filled 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 pulled 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 smell of vomit. Pix jumped up and headed for the door. This was definitely a police matter.
She almost collided 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 before that he wasn't pleased with her presence at the scene—or upstairs, at any rate. She passed him quickly.
“What will they do now?” Rebecca asked tremulously as Pix reentered the kitchen.
Pix took the mug for a refill and decided to make herself some tea, as well. Her legs were trembling and it was all she could do to answer Rebecca.
“I'm sure Earl called the state police. They'll probably be here soon. They'll 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 will 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 small downstairs room off the parlor the Bainbridges used when they were crowded. She was excited by the drama of it all, 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 killing people and then wrapping the bodies in quilts? A lunatic? A serial killer? Who could possibly want to get rid of Adelaide Bainbridge? Pix needed to get to a phone. She had to call 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 all 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 ill 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 Hill for a lot of expensive tests or tell 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 all 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 still 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 physically 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 call 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 called 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 pulled it off and then it was her feet first and I knew right away she had passed, because they were so still.” 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 fall 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 will 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 all their lives and they were having a grand time playing “What A Coincidence!” and “Do You Know?”

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