The Body in the Birches (18 page)

“It's not, but both libraries on the island—in Granville and Sanpere Village—have Wi-Fi. You can even get it sitting outside. I think it's great that they want him to experience summer here.”

Pix was sounding very firm. Very noble, Faith thought. Yet, thinking back to her conversation with Ursula about inheritance, Faith also realized that the game had most likely changed. Arnie had a son, and fathers want to hand down what they treasure, even if they had relinquished said treasure for some years.

Ben hadn't called and left word with the Millers, which meant he must be getting a ride with Mandy, but Faith still wanted to get to The Pines and be there when he arrived. Not that she was going to quiz him about anything, say, his boss. She just needed to see him. She'd get the girls and head back.

Pix said good-bye to her friend and went into the kitchen. She was the type of cook that relied heavily on things that said “Helper” on the box. In Maine she could always grill some haddock or halibut, boil lobster, and there were clams and mussels almost on their doorstep. They always put in a garden over Memorial Day weekend and it was starting to yield now. Life was simpler on the island.

But not anymore.

As they drove by the Hitchcocks' house, Faith noticed that Dwayne was still slumped in his lawn chair. She was continuing past when she noticed he was under a ratty-looking afghan that was pulled up to his extremely thick neck. It seemed odd on a warm summer day. His bulk wouldn't call for a blanket except in the dead of winter. She slowed the car and tried to see more of his face. His head was bent at an angle toward his left shoulder and his long, greasy hair had fallen over his eyes. She drove a few feet farther, pulled the car over, and stopped.

“I want to make sure Mandy's dad is okay,” Faith said to the girls. “He's been sitting in the sun a long time. He probably fell asleep and didn't realize how long it's been.”

“He might have sunstroke like that man on the Fourth of July,” Amy said.

“You two stay here and I'll check.”

Faith walked back and crossed the lawn. Dwayne Hitchcock wasn't moving. Flies were buzzing about his head and he wasn't responding to the annoyance. She put a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently.

“Mr. Hitchcock? Dwayne?”

Even as she spoke she knew he wasn't going to be responding to anything ever again. Mandy's father was dead.

The afghan slid down, exposing a slightly torn wife beater undershirt that was several sizes too small. Also exposed was a rubber tourniquet wrapped tight around his arm. Faith bent down and looked under the chair near his lifeless hand. It was almost touching an empty syringe.

Feeling sick, she looked back at the car. She had to get the girls to The Pines, which was the closer of the two houses, and call 911. But first she'd knock and see if by any chance someone was home.

Giving a little wave to the girls, who were peering out the rear window, indicating they should stay put, Faith went around the back to the kitchen door. It was wide open.

Gingerly she stepped into the room. Someone, Mandy or her mother, had attempted to keep some order, but there were dirty dishes in the sink and the table was littered with beer cans, empty Humpty Dumpty potato chip bags, several whoopie pie containers, and beef jerky wrappers. Dwayne's last lunch?

She knew she shouldn't disturb anything, but this wasn't that sort of a crime scene, and she went to the wall phone, punching in the numbers.

The volunteer dispatcher answered immediately, and Faith described what she had found.

“I have two children with me and will stay in my car until you get here.”

“We'd appreciate that.”

“And I think you'd better call Earl.”

“Already on it.”

It seemed only a few moments before the ambulance, which was garaged on the other side of the causeway in Sanpere Village, arrived, siren blaring.

The girls had been subdued, but at the sight of the emergency vehicle, Daisy said, “Wow, I've never heard an ambulance siren up close! They always turned them off when they came for my sister, so she wouldn't freak.”

Filing this information away for thought, Faith got out, told the EMTs where she would be, and drove down the road. It was now late afternoon.

At The Birches, they all got out. Daisy went streaking in the back door with Amy. Faith followed more slowly, still dazed by the shocking discovery. She found the entire Proctor clan gathered for cocktails on the front porch. Daisy and Amy were already telling everyone that Mandy's dad had sunstroke and the ambulance was there to take him away.

“And Amy's mom found him,” Daisy said. “She thought he didn't look well when we drove by and went to help him!”

“He's carrying a lot of extra weight,” Paul said. “Maybe he can get it under control now. Heard he's diabetic, too.”

Faith opened her mouth to let them know that Hitchcock was beyond any sort of diet, but decided to keep the news to herself. It would be all over the island soon enough, and she didn't want the girls to be upset. Let them think he died on the way to the hospital.

Instead she said, “How was your sail?” Sophie had mentioned the expedition.

Simon answered, “Best waters on the East Coast, although the wind did give out and we came back much earlier than I thought we would.”

Forbes gave him a playful punch on the arm, that ultimate expression of male affection among certain groups. “Now, Dad, you never think we've stayed out long enough.”

“Stay and have a drink, Faith,” Sophie said. “The sun—or maybe it should be the moon—in Uncle Simon's case, is over the yardarm. Rory made mojitos.”

“I'll take a rain check. Ben should be home soon, and even though he works in a kitchen, he's always ravenous. We'll be eating early.”

As she drove over to The Pines, Faith thought about Mandy—and her mother. Would this death leave them with heavy or light hearts? One of the ambulance corps volunteers was staying to tell Mandy. They'd already called her mother at work in Ellsworth, and she was on her way. But, she realized, Mandy would have stopped at the sight of the EMT in front of her house, and Ben had likely walked the rest of the way.

But Ben wasn't home yet, and Ursula hadn't heard from him.

“Maybe he had to work late?” she said.

Tom had called, though, and Faith quickly called him back. Marian was definitely being scheduled for surgery the following morning. All his siblings were back and the entire family was camped out at the Norwell house.

“Sis was a little put out with me at first, but Dad set her straight,” Tom said.

Knowing Betsey, “a little put out” had to be a major understatement, and Faith was glad Dick Fairchild was running interference. She was also glad they were all together. She just wished she could be there, too.

While she was on the phone, Ben slipped in, mouthed, “Taking a shower,” and disappeared upstairs.

Ursula declared it was a good night for a simple kitchen dinner. Faith quickly told her about Dwayne Hitchcock, and Ursula did not express surprise.

“It's wrong to be glad that any mortal soul is gone, but there
won't be much weeping over him, definitely not from me—and he won't be skulking around our places.”

Before they sat down for dinner, Faith asked Ben how Mandy was taking it.

“Taking what?”

“Wasn't the person from the ambulance corps waiting for her at the house? Mandy's father was taken to the hospital. It looked pretty serious—he may not have made it.”

Ben sat down at the table, as if his legs had gone out from under him. His face was pale.

“So, you didn't hear before you walked back?”

“Mandy couldn't give us a ride today. One of the other servers lives in Sedgwick and dropped me off at the church.”

“Ben! That's miles! You should have called me from the Lodge.”

The color returned to his face. “It was no big deal, Mom.”

Amy came into the kitchen. “Yum! Something smells great!”

“It's my corn chowder [see
recipe
], and even though the corn isn't ready to pick yet here in Maine, it's still good, summer corn from New Jersey,” Ursula said. “And plenty of bacon crumbled in, Ben—I know how much you like it.”

Ben and his male friends had some relationship to bacon that escaped Faith. The geekier the guy, the more bacon accoutrements he had. Ben told her his friend Nick had put membership in the Bacon of the Month Club on his holiday wish list.

Ursula's chowder was just the sort of meal Faith needed and she was glad for it. They finished early. Amy and Ursula began work on a new jigsaw while Faith tried to read. Her mind kept wandering to the scene on the Hitchcock front lawn. She hadn't told Tom about it. The list of things she hadn't shared with him so as not to upset him at this difficult time was getting longer and longer.

When the knock on the door came and she could see Earl Dickinson through the glass, she wasn't surprised. As the person
who had discovered Dwayne, Faith figured the police would want to take a statement of some sort from her.

“Come in. Would you like some coffee—hot or iced?” she said.

“No, I'm good. Ben around?”

“Ben?” What could Sergeant Dickinson of the Hancock County Sheriff's Department possibly want to talk to her son about?

“We're looking for Mandy Hitchcock.”

“She didn't give me a ride today.” Ben must have been listening just out of sight on the stairs. He came the rest of the way down into the room.

“When is the last time you saw her, son?”

“She was setting the table for lunch at the Lodge.”

“So about ten-thirty, eleven?”

“I guess. I wasn't wearing a watch.”

“What's this all about, Earl? What's going on? Doesn't Mandy know about her father yet?”

Earl looked at Faith and motioned her out to the porch, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“It was an overdose, just as you said when you called it in. But it looks like it may not have been accidental.”

“Suicide?”

“No, Faith. Homicide. And Mandy's disappeared.”

The big day had finally arrived. Or the big day before
the
big day. Felicity's extremely suitable fiancé, Barclay Smythe-Jones, would be arriving at the Bar Harbor airport at noon.

“Private plane,” Felicity announced at breakfast. She wasn't eating, thinking ahead to the dress perhaps and an avoidance of bridal boot camp. She had, however, consumed three large cups of coffee.

“Of course,” Sophie murmured, wondering why her cousin seemed to need so much caffeine on what should have been a serenely ebullient occasion. Way too soon for wedding jitters. Or maybe not.

“He may be giving a lift to a friend. We'll all grab a bite on the terrace at the Bar Harbor Inn. Forbes made reservations as soon as we knew when Barks was coming.”

“Barks” appeared to be, literally, Felicity's pet name for her intended. Tempted as she was to let out a few “woofs,” Sophie merely nodded. “You'll be here for dinner, yes?”

“Of course!” Felicity gave her cousin a scathing look that vanished at the sight of Paul coming through the kitchen door.
“Uncle Paul! Good morning! Barclay can't wait to see The Birches and meet you.”

Paul gave her a kiss on the cheek, grabbed the newspaper, the brimming mug Sophie handed him, and sat down.

“Okay, so you three will be here. What about the friend?” Sophie persisted. “Is he or she staying in Bar Harbor?” She cracked three eggs into a bowl. Paul would prefer an omelet to pancakes.

The look threatened Felicity's face again, and she smothered it with a smile so broad, her pink gums were revealed—also her clenched teeth. “It's a ‘he,' obviously, and yes, if it's not too much trouble, we would like him to join us for dinner. He's staying at the Sanpere Village Inn.”

That seemed odd, Sophie thought. Why would a young single guy want to spend his vacation on Sanpere and not in the Hamptons? Maybe he was the best man and wanted to scope out the proper rocky ledge for the toast? She mentally adjusted the dinner menu and decided that they could welcome the bridegroom and friend with lobster, steamers, and coleslaw—a modified version of the Independence Day clambake. She wasn't even going to try to match the pricey, complicated offerings at the Inn in Bar Harbor—tasty as they were. However, it was a celebration of sorts, so she might make a trifle with the strawberries and blueberries in season now. The Granville market sold spongy ladyfingers that would taste fine with real whipped cream, the fresh fruit, and she'd steal a few tablespoons of Uncle Paul's good brandy.

Felicity pronounced a clambake a wonderful idea, with no mention of actually helping, and disappeared, presumably to titivate, although she was already in full makeup with nails done and hair artfully arranged. Her outfit today was not her mother's Oldsmobile but said “hot summer girl”—tight white crop pants and a sheer turquoise linen shirt that stopped at her waist, revealing not only a perfectly tanned midriff, but also a perfectly flat one. Not so the neighbors just above, coyly peeking out from a lacy push-up
bra. Sophie hoped Forbes had also booked a room at the Inn for a couple of hours. His sister was definitely planning on making up for her time apart from “Barks.”

Sophie began to wash up. Marge Foster had arrived and was preparing baking powder biscuits for dinner. They were the size of a baseball mitt but light as a feather. Try as she might Sophie hadn't been able to duplicate them.

Earlier Will Tarkington had consumed a stack of pancakes with honey instead of maple syrup and left. Glancing out the window over the sink, Sophie saw he was engaged deep in conversation with Autumn in the garden. From the intense expression on his face, whatever they were discussing was serious. Yet, when Autumn turned around, Sophie was surprised to see that her face shone with happiness. She could not recall seeing this emotion on her cousin's face for a long time, certainly not this summer. What could Will have said to provoke this response? Autumn started to walk away toward the bunkhouse, then took a few steps back and pulled Will into her arms for a hug before continuing on.

Sophie scrubbed the cast iron griddle harder. Some of the batter had caked on. She broke a nail. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered. Except getting the whole Birches mess settled, so she could be history. Maybe she could hitch a ride with Barks and his private plane when he and his friend left. Lord only knew what his name was. It was guaranteed to be one that lent itself to a nickname like Chaz or Biff. Not that she cared what it was. At the moment she didn't care about anything.

Will was walking toward the kitchen door. Hadn't he had enough to eat? She gave the griddle one last rub. Another nail went. Not that she cared.

Amy had been invited to The Birches to take a walk in the Tennis Preserve on the other side of the island with Daisy, her mother,
and Paul McAllister. Sylvia had called just after breakfast and said they'd probably go on for lunch somewhere.

When Amy left, Ursula had turned to Faith and said tartly, “Paul's the most popular man on the island now, I'd say. What Sylvia and the rest of them don't take into account is that he's also one of the smartest. He was a close friend of Doctor Tennis, who as you may remember, left a good part of his land for the preserve. Sylvia no doubt thinks that by showing how much she cares about this island treasure and what his friend did, Paul will up and give her The Birches straight out.”

“I get the feeling,” Faith said, “that taking the two girls is calculated as well. Lets him know that Daisy has a close friend on the island, as well as reminding him of the next generation who will look after The Birches. Sylvia's offspring, not the others.”

Gert Prescott was filling a large jar to make sun tea and turned the tap off with an audible
humph
.

“What?” said Ursula.

“You know what. This is getting out of control, if it ever was
in
. The poor man must be exhausted. Being pulled this way and that. Time he went up to see his friends on MDI for a breather. Hightail it out is what I told Marge this morning. The fiancé of that niece who wants to have her wedding at The Birches arrives today, Marge said. Mr. McAllister needs to skedaddle before he has to add a wing on the house.”

“I did hear something about Felicity—she's Simon's daughter, so a great-niece—wanting to get married at The Birches just as Priscilla and Paul did,” Ursula said.

“See what I mean?” Gert punctuated her words with a snort. “Out of control. And Dwayne Hitchcock dead in his lawn chair, which anyone could have told you was bound to happen, as the man rarely stirred from it. Mandy missing. This whole summer is just plain spleeny.”

Both Faith and Ursula nodded in agreement. “Spleeny” was
one of those useful Maine words that Faith had come to appreciate years ago. It needed no translation. You knew exactly what the speaker meant.

Faith was trying hard not to worry about her mother-in-law, but had soon realized that worrying was the proper and only thing to do. She'd spoken to Tom both last night and very early this morning. He had called an hour ago to say that they had taken Marian in and he would let Faith know the minute there was news. “She still thinks it's much ado about nothing—her words,” he'd said. “And she told the doctor she has plans for next Wednesday—the South Shore Garden Tour—so he'd better have her out by then.”

Without saying anything, Ursula had brought her knitting onto the porch where Faith was sitting not reading a book, well within earshot of the phone. Faith told her what Marian had said.

“She just might make it to the tour. The treatment now is very different from even a few years ago. The doctor will want her up and moving around as soon as she's able. Not that she should run a marathon, but a stroll around a garden or two could be what he will order. And Marian is in excellent health except for this, Faith dear. I know you are worried. I am, too. But once they get in there and repair her heart she'll be good as new.”

Faith
did
feel reassured. It was true that Marian was in great shape—although, that was the main reason this had been such a shock.

“And,” Ursula added, “if you live long enough, you are going to get something. One half of the people I know have had hips, knees, all sorts of parts replaced or repaired and the other half has made it through all kinds of cancer.”

Of course, Faith thought to herself, there was that third half who were gone, but she quickly banished the gloomy thought and concentrated on the scene in front of her, straight from a Down East calendar or tourist brochure for the state. The old granite lighthouse stood out more prominently than usual since the tide was low. As the full moon approached, the tides had been extreme.
Just now it was as if someone had pulled a plug offshore. The slight clicking sound Ursula's needles were making as she deftly knit yet another pair of mittens for the Sewing Circle Fair in August was calming. Without looking down, Ursula was producing a complicated snowflake pattern. For a moment Faith toyed with the idea of asking Ursula to teach her how to knit, crochet, do crewel, needlepoint—any of the myriad handwork the older woman was never without. Faith could make sweaters for her whole family. And someday in the very far distant future when she was a grandmother herself, she could knit tiny booties. The notion made her laugh out loud.

Ursula raised her eyebrows. “Share the joke?”

“I was just thinking I should learn to knit. Booties for grandchildren. Sweaters for the family now.”

Ursula was kind enough not to laugh herself. “A nice thought, Faith dear, but I think the Almighty had other plans for your hands. Stirring and so forth.”

Faith knew her friend was thinking of the time she had tried to mend the ripped hem of one of Amy's dresses and sewed it to the skirt Faith herself was wearing.

“You're right. And that's exactly what I'm going to do now to fill the time. I think we need some chocolate. I know I do. How about those cookies that Nan Hamilton makes? The dark chocolate drop cookies rolled in sugar? [See
recipe
.] They're Tyler and Ben's favorite.”

As she said her son's name, Faith let this particular worry that had been pushed to the back of her mind start to seep forward. This morning Ben had called Brian, the person who had dropped him off the night before, and arranged to meet him at the church. He had refused his mother's offer of a ride that far and had ridden his bike instead. Brian had a pickup and the bike would easily fit in back. Ben had told Faith he would try to arrange the same shifts as Brian until Mandy came back. He'd sounded very definite that she
would
be back.

“Gert didn't say any more about Mandy Hitchcock after I went upstairs, did she?” Faith said.

“Only that Leilah wanted to file a missing person report, but the police told her it was too soon. Mandy's over eighteen, so they can't issue an Amber Alert, either. People are saying it looks like Leilah's suddenly become maternal.”

Faith was particularly stunned by the first part of the comment. “Her mother thinks something happened to Mandy? That she may have been abducted?”

“The last place anyone saw her was the Lodge just before noon. She didn't wait the lunch tables and didn't tell anyone she was leaving. That's not like her, according to Gert. She's known Mandy since they came to Sanpere and says the wonder is that the girl didn't leave home years ago, what with her mother gone so much and a no-good, or worse, father. But she also agreed that Mandy wouldn't just take off.”

“I wish Ben weren't involved.”

“Concentrate on Marian. And make those cookies. We don't know that Ben is involved in this or anything else. It's an island tragedy, and I doubt he has any more to do with it than, well, I do.”

The familiar rhythms of measuring, stirring, and baking soothed Faith. The cookies went into the oven, and the house was soon filled with their delectable aroma. But Tom's call to say that Marian had come through her ordeal with flying colors and that they would be able to see her as soon as the anesthesia wore off was the most soothing—delectable, too—of all. She took the last batch of cookies from the oven and brought a plate of them with glasses of lemonade out to the porch to give Ursula the good news.

“Why don't you go off and do something?” Ursula suggested. “You've been tied to the phone for days. They're having a sale at Mainescape, and I could use some more astilbe for the shade garden. Stop in at The Meadow and get something to send to Marian. They have all those nice shea butter soaps and hand lotions. Karen will wrap it up a treat.”

She was no knitter, but Faith
had
become something of a gardener and was particularly fond of dependable perennials, and the idea of wandering around the Blue Hill garden center to pick some up as well as heading to the enticing gift shop was very appealing.

“I won't be gone long and my cell will work there,” she said. “I can call Tom. And I'll stop at Tradewinds on the way back. We need a few things. Ben finished all the leftover ham and the scalloped potatoes, too. I swear he must have two stomachs these days.”

“Go by the stand in Sargentville and get strawberries if they've put any out. You know where it is, next to the Eggemoggin Market and Hair Extraordinaire. We can have them tonight my favorite way—cut up with only a sprinkle of sugar to release the juice.”

Armed with a list, Faith set out. She was happier than she had been since she'd answered the phone a scant nine days ago. It seemed much longer . . .

“Did you want something?” Sophie's query as Will walked into the kitchen sounded curt even to her and she felt herself flush. “I mean, did you get enough to eat with all those pancakes?” And that sounded wrong, too. As if she was suggesting he'd stuffed his face. She amended her words once again. “I can make some more batter or there are muffins.”