The Body in the Birches (23 page)

While Babs had guided her daughter back to The Pines, Will had followed, keeping a firm hold on Sylvia, who was almost foaming at the mouth. Deirdre, a traveling pharmacy, had produced a strong sedative to knock the murderess out until the storm abated and the police could take over.

Sophie took a lighter dose and woke many hours later, to find both Will and her mother by her side.

“Faith Fairchild, her little boy—not so little—and Mandy Hitchcock are here waiting for you to wake up. The riffraff is gone, specifically that Brit. And darling, he is very dishy, but really you didn't put two and two or more together? That he just happened to turn up with Barclay—no, I will not call him ‘Barks'? He's gone, and Felicity, too. The wedding is back in New York. Apparently Barclay wasn't as keen as she was. Something about the smell of the beach at low tide.”

Sophie let her mother's words wash over her, feeling incredibly happy—and safe. Maybe it was also because Will was holding her hand.

“Are you hungry? Faith brought chicken soup,” he said. “If you are up to talking, we can move into the living room. But there's no rush.” He squeezed her hand. “Sylvia has been arrested for the two murders and one attempted—you.” His voice cracked.

Sophie sat up straight. “Two! Whose?”

“Come on, sweetheart,” her mother said. “Throw some clothes on and let's all sit down. We'll fill you in—and you can explain how Will came to have
my
gun. I would have thought he had his own.”

Curiouser and curiouser, Sophie thought. Someone—she hoped it had been Babs, or maybe she hoped not—had stripped off her wet clothes last night, and she was wearing sweats and a long-sleeved tee. She slipped her sandals on and a cardigan that had been Aunt Priscilla's.

Uncle Paul immediately got up when she entered the living
room and led her to a spot next to him on the couch after hugging her fiercely.

The room was full, but it was also interesting to note that many of the cast of characters from these last weeks were gone. Obviously Sylvia, but also Rory, Autumn, and Daisy. Forbes must have hitched a ride on Barclay's plane as well. Her aunt and uncle were still here.

As if reading her mind, Will said, “Rory and Autumn are making arrangements for the three of them to fly back to California tomorrow. Daisy is over at The Pines with her new friend Amy, a friend she will keep forever, a ‘BFF' according to the two of them.”

“This is Mandy, Sophie,” Ben said shyly. “We feel bad. If I hadn't come over here last night, you wouldn't, I mean—”

Babs interrupted him. “She's safe and sound. So is Mandy—and we're going to keep her that way. Besides, Sylvia was bound and determined to bump my little girl off. She would have succeeded if she had picked a less dramatic time. Now, I'll start. After a hellish cab ride—which cost me a fortune—I arrived to discover Sophie wasn't here, and that rat Ian told me she was out in the storm, so I went after her—just like your mother did after you, Ben—someday you'll have children of your own to put you through this sort of thing I can only hope. It was lucky Will came along, though I didn't know he had my piece. Sylvia dropped the syringe when she heard the shot, and Will had better have been intending the next one for her heart if she hadn't.”

“It must be the sleeping pills or whatever you gave me, but I'm still very confused,” Sophie said. “Two murders? Who did Sylvia kill?”

Will answered. “It's hard for us to comprehend, but she killed Bev to see whether a method she found on the Internet would work.”

Sylvia a geek, who knew? Sophie thought in astonishment.

“She isn't saying how she got Bev to the birch grove—probably told her someone needed help and they had to go quickly—and she'd been stockpiling syringes from . . . someone.” He paused. “She had loaded one with potassium chloride. A very soluble salt substitute widely available. She pumped Bev full of the stuff, and it mimicked a fatal heart attack. Potassium chloride is undetectable in an autopsy, since we have so much salt in our blood naturally. She had prepared an even higher concentration for you, and there was a thick branch near where she had been standing that suggests she also planned to bludgeon you. The storm was taking trees and limbs down, so there would have been no cause to think that your death wasn't accidental.”

The blood had drained from Sophie's face, and she was feeling a little faint. She thought of the used syringe she had stowed in the Lexus's glove compartment and then promptly, maybe purposely, forgotten about. And of course it must have also been Sylvia herself who planted the Beanie puffin in her own bed.

Faith Fairchild appeared as if by magic with a steaming mug of soup. “Sip this, and there's plenty more.”

“The second murder was Dwayne, right? Sorry, Mandy,” Sophie said.

“Don't be. I'm not. I think the reason I freaked in the lighthouse—which was the safest place to be on the island last night, I'm beginning to realize—was because I've been on edge and worse for so long. When the thunder and lightning started, I kinda went to pieces.”

“But what did Sylvia have to do with him? And maybe I'm missing something, but why kill me? It can't be because of the house.”

Paul McAllister looked grim. “I should have listened to my friend Ursula and ignored Priscilla's wishes. The Pandora's box, the letter, let a great deal of evil into our lives. Sylvia thought by eliminating the competition she'd be the last man standing, so to speak.”

Sophie was horrified. “She was going to keep on going?”

“I'm quite sure she was putting something in my food. Ipecac
to start. I found the empty bottle,” Deirdre said. “There's no other explanation for the way I've been feeling.”

Will looked over at Sophie and made a slight drinking gesture with his hand. She started to giggle, then focused back on the serious matters to hand.

“But Dwayne Hitchcock. He isn't related to us.”

“Dwayne saw Sylvia inject Bev and was blackmailing her. He regularly went into the birch grove to pick up loose pieces for stove wood—as well as stealing some from our woodpiles—and he caught her in the act. Sylvia doctored one of his cans of beer and watched until he passed out. She obviously didn't know about his needle phobia.”

“Which leaves?” Babs looked pointedly at her brother. “The Ian debacle.”

“Uncle Paul. Sophie,” Simon said pompously, perhaps an adherent of “the best defense is offense” school, “I had
no
idea whatsoever that Forbes and the others had cooked up the plan to bring Sophie's ex here to keep her from getting involved with someone else, someone close to you, Paul.”

“And if you believe that, I have a bridge you might like to buy,” Babs said.

“Mother!” Sophie started to object. It was over. Well and truly over. Enough was enough. She was more tired than she had ever been. Even when she was shooting for twenty-four billable hours.

Faith stood up. “We just wanted to make sure you were all right, Sophie. Mandy and Ben have to get to work. Mandy is staying at The Pines until school starts, and then she has a number of options to consider, including a move to Massachusetts. Ursula would like to have someone in the house and would love it to be Mandy.” Sophie noticed that Ben was beaming while his mother spoke.

After The Pines contingent had left, the room grew quiet. Sophie, with Will on her other side now, had started to drowse off.

“I guess it's as good a time as any to put an end to the mess I started eleven days ago in this same room,” Paul McAllister said.

Sophie opened her eyes; Simon and Deirdre had stiffened. Her mother was adopting an unconvincing nonchalant pose.

“I'm sorry, Simon, but I'm giving the house to Babs. I know you have the funds to maintain it, but so does she. And I know you love it, but I'm afraid it comes down to the next generation. Sophie reminds me of Priscilla in so many ways, especially her kindness. The whole time she has been here she has been chief cook and bottle washer with very little help from any of us, I'm afraid—except for Will. My lawyer will be drawing up the necessary papers and Babs's acceptance is contingent on agreeing to leave The Birches to Sophie.”

Simon took it well. “I understand, sir,” he said. “We'll be out by morning.”

“Oh, don't be such a doofus—and cut the martyr crap,” Babs said. “Next thing we know you'll be doing Sydney Carton's
Tale of Two Cities
speech.”

Sophie started to giggle again—she really had to get some sleep—thinking of Uncle Simon's Declaration of Independence performance.

“Of course you can stay—for as long as you like,” Babs continued. “Whenever you like, and that goes for your impossible children, too. And their children, although what Felicity will produce with Barclay is beyond imagining. Puppies?”

Babs was on a roll.

Will slipped his arm around Sophie, and she found herself fitting neatly against his chest. As she started to lean back, her mother's words from the night before returned. She tilted her head to look at him squarely in the face. “What did my mother mean about you having your own gun, and why did you take hers from the car?”

She shot her mother a look that clearly said “More about that later.”

Will looked a bit sheepish. “I need it for my work at times. Don't worry. It's all legal.” He grinned down at her. “I'm not
some kind of hit man. And taking the gun from the car was part of doing my job here.”

“But
what
are you? And
who
are you? I couldn't turn up a ‘Will Tarkington' anywhere in the state of Georgia.”

Paul answered. “I got an odd anonymous letter before coming up here—Sylvia sowing early seeds—it warned me to watch out for family members. I showed Will, who is a private investigator, and that's all it took for him to clear his caseload and come with me. I think he's no doubt very happy he did.”

“So do you have some horrible name that you want to keep secret?” Sophie asked.

“I thought it best to come incognito in case anyone did exactly what you did and Googled me, discovering my profession. ‘Will'
is
my first name but ‘Tarkington' is my middle name—and we are distantly related to the author. My last name is . . .” He was smiling broadly, as were Babs and Paul. “‘Maxwell!'”

Sophie was stunned, and all the events since she'd left Connecticut—no, make that since she'd left London—came crashing down on her. All that had happened, and kept happening. All of it incredibly hard to believe.

“I've met Will often visiting Paul and Priscilla in Savannah. You'll like it there, Sophie,” Babs said. “And this certainly makes life simple. You won't even need new writing paper, and the monogramming on your towels—easy peasy. Now, what does a lady have to do to get a drink around here? Deirdre, have you left any Stoli?”

Sophie moved from her comfy spot on the couch. “I'll be right back.”

She went into her room and sat on the bed, gazing out the window for a while at the tall pines casting deep shadows on the yard. All at once she knew what she had to do. Wanted to do.

Ten minutes later she was diving from the dock. The instant she hit the cold salt water she felt herself again. That Sophie Maxwell. When she surfaced, she began a leisurely breaststroke out
toward the Reach. She had the feeling she could keep swimming for miles. She turned over and the sky above was like the bright blue cereal bowl Aunt Priscilla always put out for her. She felt her body grow weightless, closed her eyes, and decided to let the tide move her back and forth, washing away the last year and especially this summer.

Then she heard a splash that she was sure wasn't a harbor seal.

“Sophie!” Not far off a slightly anxious voice called. “Shug, I'm here.”

She smiled at the puffy white clouds above—like the spots of milk left at the bottom of the bowl—turned over, and swam toward Will. Will Maxwell. Her beloved.

The Blue Hill Fair, one of the last old-time agricultural fairs in Maine with “Some Pig” celebrated in E. B. White's
Charlotte's Web,
marked the end of the summer. Faith noted the fact to herself, as she did every year when she walked around the fairgrounds with a bittersweet mixture of pleasure and regret.

Some of the swamp maples by the sides of the roads had already started to turn, scarlet swatches against the green. Tom had been back and forth several times, bringing his parents to Sanpere with him for four days at the start of August. Marian had made almost a full recovery, and the new addition to the cottage meant plenty of room for guests.

Despite Derek's ineptitude, the Lodge had remained open—although without its young boss, whose stash of pills was discovered by his parents. He'd voluntarily entered McLean's residential substance abuse program in Massachusetts. The Otises hired a manager recommended by the chef. Word spread; The Laughing Gull became a prime destination for dinner and lodging both. Zach Hale had agreed to return the following summer, as did the new manager. Zach asked Ben and Mandy to consider returning as well.

Mandy was staying on the island for her senior year. She and
her mother were in therapy, which Ed Ricks had arranged. The hope was for the two of them to eventually live together again, but for now Mandy was with Freeman and Nan Hamilton, some sort of cousins. The gifted girl's future was looking much brighter than it ever had before.

Only Sam and Pix were still at the Miller cottage. Faith had seen them a few minutes ago. They said they were on their way to the grandstand to watch the iron skillet toss and told the Fairchilds they would save them seats.

In the aftermath of July's momentous events, Pix had finally taken her brother to breakfast, and he had told her, much surprised, that of course things would stay the same—so long as Dana would be able to come as he got older if he grew to love the island as much as the rest of them. It hadn't occurred to Arnie that the new addition to the family would cause any changes in Ursula's plans, which he told his mother as soon as he had wolfed down three of the gargantuan strawberry pancakes and returned to The Pines.