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 called. “Come join me. There's tuna fish if you want a sandwich.”
Samantha came directly.
“Well, 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.”
“âA 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 telling 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 tell his parents.”
“Mom, Arlene says they've taken him to a million 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 âclub.'” Pix was torn. She really 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 againâor sent to the military school, which appeared to be the next course of action. And she really wasn't acquainted well 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 automatically. “Why don't I tell all 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 all 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 tell.
Pix went to the phone to call 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.
“Hello, 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 allowed to grieve properly for his father. He feels responsible, you know. They were caught in a terrific storm and had all been taking turns at the helmâor 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 will understand.”
“Maybe and maybe not. Jim is a pretty straight arrow and I'm sure any suggestion of witchcraft will 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'll talk to Valerie in private without getting too specific. This worked after Duncan took her car earlier in the summer. The main thing I'll 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'll 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 telling 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 full 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 yoursâFaith. There are things about the island better left alone. I know you summer people think it's paradise, but paradise had 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 mollify her.
“I just don't want anything to happen to you. I care about all the Millers deeply. You know that. Bow out, Pix. Bow out.”
“Don't worry. Nothing is going to happen. I'll let Samantha know about what we're doing and if either of us finds out anything more, we'll 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 well 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 especially Duncan Cowley, it seemed. Maybe too much? And what kind was it exactly? Mitchell 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 fill in the columns. Under “Suspects,” she decided to list everyone, no matter how far-fetched, starting with Mitchell's death. There weren't many. Duncan Cowley, the knife wounds were suggestive of some sort of ritual slaying. Seth Marshall, 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 Mitchell had lived with him or because Mitchell 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 falling-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 AdelaideâIf, 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 Marshall 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 Jill suggested he might have made a killingâstrike that phraseâa 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 will. Rebecca surely must know.
“Causes of Death.” Mitch was stabbed and Addie's was unknown at the moment. She'd like to call 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 bathroomâall of which pointed to poison of some kind. Addie had been sick for days and Pix recalled the graphic account of her symptoms. What did one have to do with the other? Was her illness 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
call 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 filled 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 called to Samantha to come for a walk with the dogs. They all needed to get out.
For once, Samantha was staying home. After an early supper of toasted cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, one of the Miller family's favorite repasts, the phone rang. During the course of a lengthy conversation, Pix heard Samantha tell Arlene she was tired and ask her how about the following 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 will and how big the estate might be, but Ursula cut her off, obliquely indicating Rebecca had attached herself limpetlike 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 will are?”