The Body In The Bog Part 12

Having quickly opted for that mother's standby, a video-in this case Winnie the Pooh-Faith walked into the study only a few minutes later.

"I've a.s.sumed the whole thing was Millicent's idea," Tom was saying.

"What whole thing?" Faith asked. With Millicent, Tom could be referring to anything from temperance to changing Aleford's name back to what Millicent believed was its original one, Haleford.

John Dunne sighed. The papers on Tom's desk fluttered. She was back. There was no way he was going to get a private chat with the reverend. Once again, he faced the prospect that Faith would get overly involved, get in the way, get in his hair, get... He could go on, and did-to his wife.

Yet, he reminded himself, Faith did know more about what was going on in town than Tom, who the detective presumed was busy concentrating on loftier matters.

"I want to know about the POW! group," Dunne explained. "Who started it, anything that comes to mind."

Faith thought it more judicious to answer his questions before asking her own.

"Tom is right. Millicent started Preserve Our Wetlands! and the core group formed around a letter sent to the

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Chronicle protesting Joey Madsen's plans to develop Beecher's Bog."

Dunne nodded.

"The people who signed the letter were Fix Miller, Louise and Ted Scott, Margaret and Nelson Batcheldor, Brad Hallowell, and Millicent herself. You know about the poison-pen letters they got afterward?"

"Yes," Dunne said. "Charley told me. He also described the meeting of POW! that he attended and I understand there's another one tonight. But what I want to know is whether there have been others you know about, smaller meetings."

"I'm sure there have been, although I haven't been invited to any. They would have had to have met to talk about the big meeting and compose the flyer. Although, I suppose Millicent and Brad could have done that themselves. I can find out from Fix if she's been at any meetings." Having offered help, Faith felt she could slip in a question.

"Do you think Margaret's active membership in POW! had something to do with her murder?" Dunne hadn't rung their doorbell to sell raffle tickets for PAL. The state police would have been called in right away in a town with a police force the size of Aleford's. The detective might be asking about POW!, but he was definitely investigating Margaret's death.

He frowned. It was marginally more grotesque than his smile.

"I didn't say anything about the Batcheldor case," he spoke sternly. "Back off, Faith. All I want to know about is POW!"

Outwardly chastened, Faith told him everything she knew and described the selectmen's meetings, as well. She had been prepared to tell him about meeting the Batchel-dors in the bog, but he'd said stick to POW!, so she did.

At the end, he nodded again and addressed Tom. "It would be useful if we had someone who could report what goes on at these meetings. Charley's there, but some extra eyes and ears would help. Obviously we can't go."

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"I suppose so," Tom said. He wasn't altogether easy with the role of infiltrator, but if Dunne thought there could be a connection between the group and the murder, they had to try to find it.

Faith was not miffed. She was used to John and knew that even though he was specifically asking Tom, he meant her, too-however much it pained him.

"You want us to be moles. No problem. Now, if we could disguise ourselves in Carhartt jackets and get jobs with Deane Properties, we'd be all set."

It was exactly what Dunne had been afraid of-Faith was already on the case, at least in her mind.

"I just want to know about the conservation group. Period."

If he had known Faith was taking this to mean that she didn't have to share whatever else she uncovered, he might have phrased it differently. He might not even have walked in the parsonage door in the first place.

He snapped shut the Fitofax in which he'd been making notes and stood up, narrowly missing a beam. The study was in the oldest part of the house.

"I'll hear from you tomorrow, then." It was not a question. Tom showed him out and Faith raced to make sure the tape had not finished. Tigger was about to take Roo's medicine and Ben had not taken Amy out of the playpen. She was in time.

Resisting the impulse to dress up as either Boris Badenov or Natasha-she seemed to have an impulse for disguise lately-Faith arrived at POW!'s second meeting early enough to get a place up front. She draped her jacket on the seat beside her to save it for Tom, who was waiting for Samantha. Softball practice had run late. Samantha had still not heard from her last two colleges and was no closer to a decision about the others than she had been a week ago. The whole episode of the poison-pen letter had been overshadowed by where Samantha was going to go to school, the main topic of conversation at the Miller house once 102.

again. Samantha herself seemed quite calm when Faith had spoken to her about her choices. It was Fix who was going off the deep end. "I don't even know what time zone she's going to be in or how much of a phone bill to expect!" she'd told Faith. The real issue was Samantha's leaving. Fix was going to miss her terribly, and without a daughter in residence, the whole family constellation would change. "I'll be outnumbered," she'd told Faith. "All the blouses in the wash will be mine." Faith had commiserated without totally understanding. Granted, it was many years away, but she thought it might not be so bad getting back to just the two of them-with lots of visits home, of course. Fix viewed the gradual reduction in size as the loss of limbs from one kind of family tree.

Millicent strode up onstage just as Tom slid into the seat next to his wife. "No envelopes thick or thin today, and she's sick of talking about it. So don't say anything about the C word when we get home," he told her quickly before Millicent began.

"Poor Samantha! It's horrible to be the center of attention sometimes."

Millicent didn't have a gavel. She didn't need one. The room, which was even more crowded than last time, instantly grew quiet.

"Before we begin, I'd like to have a moment of silence for our member, Margaret Batcheldor, who died so tragically this week. Most of you knew her and of her devotion to our cause. I would like to dedicate all our future efforts in memory of Margaret."

Millicent bowed her head and the only sound was the ticking of the large clock mounted on the wall next to the stage. Sixty seconds later, Millicent's head snapped up and she was on to the first order of business.

"We'll start the meeting with a report from the head of the signature drive, Brad Hallowell. Brad, stand up."

Brad stood.

"We have submitted more than the required number of signatures to the town clerk and after verification, which 103.

should be completed by Tuesday, since Monday is a holiday, a special Town Meeting will be called for the following week." Someone gave a cheer and everyone clapped. Brad sat down.

Faith tried to think of a way she could question him. They still didn't know who'd made the calls-or thrown the brick. Lora was at her grandparents, but she'd have to go back to her own place sometime. Brad was basking in success at the moment, smiling and happy. He didn't look threatening, but his scuffle with Gus at the selectmen's meeting suggested otherwise.

"Wonderful work! Everyone is to be congratulated, and special thanks to you, Brad, for doing such a fine job coordinating things. I may just have to get one of those computers myself someday!" The audience laughed at the pleasantry. Until they came out with Chippendale or Sheraton models, it was unlikely that high tech would invade Miss McKinley's parlor.

"I'm pleased to report that our treasury is in fine shape due to your generous contributions, and we have more than enough for a town-wide mailing to explain what is going to happen at Town Meeting and ask people to call their members to express support for the articles. Fix Miller and Louise Scott have agreed to head up this committee, and they'll need volunteers to stuff all those envelopes. You can sign up after the meeting. I've written an informal environmental-impact statement that we'll include."

"When does the woman sleep?" Faith whispered to Tom. She leaned back in the wooden chair like the kind that used to be in movie theaters, the kind that demanded you sit down quickly and stay seated or it would jackknife on you. It was almost as uncomfortable as the pews at First Parish. So far, there was precious little to report back to headquarters, she thought. Signature collection and a hefty treasury. Possibly there was something there. She could ask Pix who the big donors were. Everyone had been asked to kick in at least ten dollars initially to cover the cost of the flyers. But a town-wide mailing was expensive. Millicent 104.

herself lived on a very fixed income-or so she said, frequently. Brad certainly made good money, but was he committed to the point where he was a.s.suming the bulk of the cost? Faith wished she could make a note, but she didn't want to look conspicuous.

Faith was getting bored. Maybe it was too much to hope for a repeat of the fireworks at the last selectmen's meeting.

Millicent was discussing tactics for Town Meeting. Someone suggested that all the Town Meeting members in POW! meet separately to talk about how best to present the articles. Millicent thought that was a pretty good idea. Faith didn't. It meant Tom would find out what was going on before she did. Town Meeting was something the Fairchilds had always done wherever they found themselves, running for election before the boxes were unpacked, although in Tom's family's case, this normally meant years. The Fairchilds were savers and everything went with them. On one visit, Faith had been startled to discover some Allied Van cartons in her in-law's attic marked, "Children's Misc. Schoolwork and Odd Curtains."

"Now to be blunt..." Faith heard through her thoughts. Millicent might be getting to something interesting at last, she hoped. "We have to be very careful not to tread on any toes between now and the meeting. A certain family in town has come in for a great deal of criticism and mud-slinging is not the way we do things in Aleford. They will have their day in court, just as we will. Town Meeting will decide."

This was pretty decent of Millicent-to call off the hounds and leave the Deanes in peace. But, Faith reflected, it was also very smart. There was nothing to be gained by going after them. It made POW! look bad. Millicent was a great believer in the power of moral superiority.

Suddenly, Faith began to feel sorry for the Deanes and was glad Millicent wasn't a mind reader-close to it though she was. What about the Deanes' rights? Faith didn't want the land developed, but Joey did own it. It belonged to him, and those opposing him would be equally furious if, for 105.

instance, Joey told them they couldn't paint their houses a certain color or add on a bedroom because of some sainted "quality of life in Aleford" article.

"I'm getting mixed up about which side I'm on," Faith said in a low voice to her husband.

"Me, too," he responded, speaking into her ear. "I don't like the bedfellows on one side; don't like the bed on the other."

Millicent was asking for someone to help draft the cover letter for the mailing. Faith, finally seeing an opportunity, shot her hand up like an eager "pick me, pick me!" third grader.

"Why, Faith," Millicent said, the words tumbling out before she could help herself.

"Thank you, I'd love to work on this," she said in acceptance, even though she well knew Millicent was merely voicing surprise. Faith never volunteered for anything. She'd learned from watching Fix that one thing did not lead to another, but to fifty or sixty.

Tom raised his eyebrows. It gave him an endearing look. Faith smiled. "I simply want to be of service, darling."

"Sure you do," he said, the eyebrows approaching his hairline.

At the close of the meeting, Ted Scott read a few pa.s.sages from Th.o.r.eau to keep everyone in the mood and Millicent told them they would gather again, same time, same place, the following Wednesday. POW! was gaining momentum and they would need to meet more often.

Faith was waiting for her at the side of the stage.

"When do you want to meet?" she asked.

"Meet?" Millicent made it sound like an indecent suggestion.

"Yes, to draft the letter."

"Oh, that. Well, I can't think about another thing until Patriots' Day is over. I have a million things to do before Monday."

Faith was sure this was not an exaggeration. Apart from organizing the reenactment, Millicent was also in charge of 106.

the DAR's pancake breakfast served afterward to some of the hundreds of spectators who flocked to the green. Then there was the morning youth parade and the big parade later in the day. Millicent had received the Bronze Musket, the town's highest civic award, twice-the only person in history to do so. In Aleford, this particular plaque was so prized it fell into the category of what-to-save-first-in-the-event-of-disaster. For a couple of the recipients, it might be a hard choice between musket and, say, spouse.

"How about Tuesday?" Faith was persistent. "The mailing should be well in advance of Town Meeting, and we could read it to the members the next night."

"All right, Tuesday. Ten o'clock at my house. I'll see if Brad can make it. He's working at home for these two weeks."

Just as Faith had hoped. Brad Hallowell. At last a chance to get to know this tempestuous young man, a young man Millicent obviously did know well, even down to his work schedule.

She left Millicent and went in search of Tom, who was talking to Fix. Faith suggested they walk home together. Sam Miller, while opposing Alefordiana Estates, told his wife he could not belong to any organization that had an exclamation point. He'd taken his son to the movies.

It wasn't difficult to find out what Fix knew about POWI's funding. All Faith had to do was ask.

"I a.s.sume you're talking about amounts over a hundred, right?"

"Yes," Faith answered, this being the rough equivalent of benefactor in New York City, your name to be chiseled in marble or over an archway.

"The Scotts gave a hundred and fifty and so did the Batcheldors. Brad gave two hundred. The largest donation was five hundred from anonymous."

"Anonymous? Come on, you must have some idea of who it is, or Millicent does. The check had to be signed."

"Nope." They were approaching the parsonage and Fix slowed her steps. ' The money was in cash. Millicent found 107.

it in her mailbox with the donation slip from the flyer inside."

"Well, what did that say?"

"Nothing. Just 'anonymous' printed next to 'Name'- and no other information."

"Not too many people in town have that kind of money, or rather, they do, but they don't give it away. Take a guess, Fix. Who do you think it is?"

"I have given it some thought," Fix admitted, "and we did talk about it when we met to plan last week's meeting. It could be Bea Hoffman or one of the other selectmen-^ someone who can't publicly support us."

"Does Bea have that much money?" Faith asked. Bea had never struck her as a lady with much in the way of disposable income. Same coat since Faith had been in Ale-ford. Same pocketbook, too. Although this frugality should have alerted her.

"Oh yes, Bea is very wealthy. Her mother's family."

They were at the gate to the parsonage.

"I'll come in and get Samantha," Fix offered. "No sense in having her walk home alone."

"I'm happy to walk her home, but she always laughs at me," Tom protested.

"Since it's only a few steps, I can see why," her mother said, contradicting herself. But Faith knew Fix wasn't concerned for Samantha's safety. She just wanted to store up as much time as possible with her daughter.

Samantha was curled up in one of the wing chairs, reading. She yawned and stretched.

"They were perfect," she told Faith, who believed her. One's children always were for other people. "How was POW! tonight?" She laughed.

"Fine. And we have enough signatures to reconvene Town Meeting. Poor Joey Madsen better give up now," Fix said. "By the way, did you see that his lawyer was there again tonight? I think Joey should come himself instead of sending a spy!"

The tops of Tom's ears turned pink. "Maybe he has his 108.

reasons. Such as not wanting to cause a riot."

Faith looked at her husband. "I agree with Fix. Spies, the very idea."

t two o'clock the next afternoon, Faith was looking out the kitchen window, trying to predict the weather. They were about to take the kids to die Boston Children's Museum. Should it be raincoats or not? Fix seemed to have acquired this meteorological knack at about the same time as she had learned to walk, and Faith had noted other Ale-ford residents who would touch their tongues to index fingers, test the air with great deliberation, then matter-of-factly tell you the temperature, barometric pressure, and the precipitation for the next several days, with an occasional reference to what was rolling in from Canada.

"Raincoats?" she asked Ben and Amy. Maybe they'd picked it up, too. Ben was already adding r's to the end of certain words where none existed.

"It's not going to rain, Mom. It's warm. I don't need a jacket," Ben said firmly. So firmly, Faith was tempted to believe him, except he never wanted to wear a jacket.

"We'll throw mem in the car. I wonder what's keeping Daddy." Tom had been at the church office since early morning, taking a sandwich with him.

After her husband had left, she'd reported in to Detective Lieutenant Dunne. It had been a brief conversation and the only item that really seemed to interest him was the anonymous five-hundred-dollar donation. It was the only thing that had interested her the night before, too. She told him that she had volunteered to be on a committee, and he told her to keep in touch, but she could tell his heart wasn't really in it.