The Body In The Bog Part 22

"I try. I'm switching to beer. You want one?"

Faith shook her head. She wanted to keep her mind clear.

"The suspects in Nelson's case are more limited," she said. "The chloral hydrate had to have been administered sometime during the breakfast, which means it had to have been someone who was there."

"It's beginning to look more and more like Joey. He may have thought Nelson knew something-or Nelson may know something and not know he knows it. That makes more sense than it sounds."

"I know," Faith said, and wrote it down. "But Joey didn't kill himself-and he is in no condition to go scampering in the woods after me."

Tom looked disheartened. "We do have a problem. Unless Joey's killer was completely unrelated to the other two crimes and that killer thinks you saw something when you discovered the body."

"It was a person he knew," Faith mused. "Who disliked him but might have seemed like a friend, or at least an acquaintance?"

"People in the construction field, perhaps, some of the POW! members, and from what you told me about your conversation with Gus, he might be a possibility."

' 'If Gus found out that Joey had killed Margaret and tried to kill Nelson, would he have taken the law into his own hands? He wouldn't have wanted his family's name dragged through the courts-and the tabloids. It's also pos- 200.

sible that it was Joey all along who sent the letters to try to intimidate POW! and made the calls to Lora. If Gus found all this out, he might have seen getting rid of Joey as justifiable homicide, an extreme form of citizen's arrest."

"I can't believe Gus Deane would kill anyone, though. Especially a family member." Tom sipped his beer slowly.

"He was at the breakfast, remember. And he adores Bonnie. If he thought Joey was hurting her in some way ..." Faith was scribbling madly. "And what about Bonnie herself? She's very tough. Suppose she found out what Joey had been up to?" Faith added her name. Bonnie had been at St. Theresa's. She'd been wearing a voluminous snuff-colored skirt with a wide ap.r.o.n of blue-striped mattress ticking-plenty of room for'pockets. Plenty of room to hide a bottle of medicine.

"And you? What would these people have against you?" Tom asked.

"I must be getting close to the truth-which leads me to my plan." She hadn't intended to tell Tom, but they were in this together now. "I want to give whoever it is another chance, but before you say anything, this time it would be perfectly safe. I'd be a decoy, let it be known that I do know something. But have John or Charley in the pantry or wherever."

"You must be out of your mind!" Tom exploded.

Faith was disappointed. She'd thought he understood.

"Tom, it's the only way to stop this. Someone else may get killed."

"And it's not going to be you."

Faith kept quiet. Tom finished his beer.

"Well, what have we learned?"

"Besides the fact that I married a crazy woman?" He tempered his remark with a long kiss.

"Besides that."

' 'One of our killers, if there are indeed two, was someone at the Minuteman breakfast. Although, the notion that there are two seems unimaginable."

201.

Faith was casting her thoughts back to Patriots' Day morning, a.s.sembling the cast of characters: Gus, Joey, Nelson, Bonnie, Brad ...

"Brad Hallowell. We haven't talked about him."

"How does he fit into all this?" Tom had slipped his arm around his wife's shoulders. She smelled good-having put Amy to bed, Faith had a whiff of the cornstarch powder she used for the baby mixed in with her Arpege.

"Suppose he was the person Margaret was meeting at the unfinished house on Whipple Hill. He sees Joey kill her, then tries to blackmail Joey into dropping the Alefor-diana Estates plan. When Joey refuses, Brad kills him."

"What about the attack on Nelson?"

"Nelson knows Margaret was meeting Brad at the house. Maybe Brad has a ski mask, too, and was cavorting in the bog with them. Brad is satisfied now that Nelson is too terrified to say anything and is letting him live. He may be certain there's no evidence to tie him to the crime."

"And he made the calls to Lora and threw the brick?"

"Yes-and cut the hoses on the excavator. Joey would never damage his own property, unless he really did want to frame POWf But I think he would have picked something less expensive."

"All the pieces fit so far, but there's the attack on you. You guys are on the same team," Tom pointed out.

"True, but Brad knows I've been looking into things. I implied that I'm not satisfied with what the police have been doing-or not doing. I said as much at the meeting this morning."

"I remember," Tom said glumly.

"And Brad was sitting right there."

"He certainly is temperamental. I thought he was going to blow his stack when I said I'd quit if we didn't call off Town Meeting for now."

' 'Exactly. Lora said as much, too, when she first told us her suspicions about her caller." That night, Lora in Tom's arms, seemed a century ago. And what about Lora? Lora, the lady of at least two faces, if not a thousand. Could she 202.

have been in this with Brad and their whole breakup a smoke screen? Then who was Mr. Miata?

Faith wrote a few more hasty notes.

"Let's call it a day-or rather, it is day. It's tomorrow already, and if I'm not mistaken, it will be show time in a few hours."

Tom pulled her to her feet. "Show time? Not exactly. But I do have plenty to say."

Joseph Madsen's wake was Sunday evening. The funeral would be held at St. Theresa's early Monday. Faith put on a black linen suit from Searle and went next door to drive to the wake with the Millers. Tom had had to go to the hospital to see an elderly parishioner who'd suffered a heart attack that afternoon.

"I wonder who will be there?" Fix said as they drove to the funeral home.

"Judging from the number of cars, I'd say most of the town," Sam remarked. "You two go on in and I'll park in the Shop 'n Save lot. There's no room here."

The parking lot of the Stewart Funeral Home was full and when Faith and Fix went inside, there was a long line to get into the room where the family was sitting with Joey. Faith spied Millicent ahead of her and the Scotts. Nelson was with them. This was an occasion that transcended mundane disagreements. At least, Faith hoped so. For these two days, no one had any affiliations. Death was a nonexclusive club. No sponsor needed.

Faith had been in a great many funeral homes. It went with the job. Stewart's was interchangeable with most, except for the framed prints of the battle on Aleford Green and other famous moments from local history. The furniture was Chippendale by way of Ethan Allen, the wall-to-wall carpeting beige, and the walls themselves covered with a muted striped paper that matched the floors. As the line moved slowly forward, they pa.s.sed a number of large floral offerings: Deane Construction Company, Deane-Madsen Development Corporation, Deane Properties, Deane Toy- 203.

ota, the Masons, the Aleford Minutemen, and, when Faith glimpsed the casket, the biggest and most heartrending of all: "Love from Bonnie and Little Joey."

"Open or closed?" whispered Fix. She figured Faith, of all people, should know.

"Closed, I would think," she answered. Yet, morticians could accomplish a great deal. They'd shut those staring eyes and cover the wound. The casket might be open after all. She thrust the image out of her mind and tried instead to think of Joey as he'd been at the selectmen's meeting.

Sam joined them. "Such a young guy." He thought of his own children. "His poor parents. They were very proud of all he'd accomplished. He conies from a large family in Somerville and he's always been the star."

The star. Faith believed it-married well, made good money, produced a long-awaited child, another Joey at that. Joseph Madsen had had everything going for him.

They were close to the front and one of the Stewarts came along with the guest book for them to sign. It was hard to tell the various Stewart generations apart. In their somber clothes and conservative haircuts, they all looked about fifty. Faith wrote her name. She was dreading meeting Joey's parents, who she was sure were the two elderly people sitting next to Bonnie. Mrs. Madsen's eyes were red and puffy. A balled-up handkerchief was clenched in one hand. Bonnie had brought the baby, who was sleeping peacefully in her arms at the moment, unaware of the tragedy surrounding him. It was unbearably sad.

The casket was closed. Faith breathed a sigh of relief. Someday she might be able to remember him alive. Gus stood up to greet her, gripping her hand hard and pulling her into his arms.

"I'm so sorry, Gus. I know how horrible this is for all of you."

The old man nodded. He hadn't been crying, but his face was red. He looked angry. Lora was standing beside him. She hugged Faith, too. It was as Faith had expected. All thoughts of POW! and divisiveness were absent.

204.

"We'll get whoever did this," Lora said angrily; then her face changed and tears welled in her eyes. "Poor Bonnie! Poor little Joey! He's never going to know his father." Lora had her hair pulled back and it looked limp. She was wearing her gla.s.ses and no makeup, but now that Faith had witnessed the transformation, she could detect the very attractive woman beneath the disguise. She was surprised she'd missed it before. Context is everything. The way you don't recognize the checkout people you see several times a week at the market when you b.u.mp into them on the MBTA or other places. Brad had picked up on Lora's appeal. So had the well-dressed stranger. Who else?

A young man next to Lora put his arm around her and Lora managed to make the introduction, "This is my brother Bobby. Eddie and Terry are over with the Madsens. This is Mrs. Fairchild, Bobby."

"So you're the one who found him. I'm sorry. It must have been a terrible experience." Bobby Deane was tall and successfully fighting the weight a slight heaviness at the jowls indicated could be a problem. He sounded sincere, yet car salesmen always did. He took her over to the Mad-sens.

"This is Mrs. Fairchild."

Faith looked back at the Millers, who were still talking with Gus senior. She caught Pix's eye and signaled for her to come to Faith's rescue-immediately. This was because as soon as Bobby said those words, poor Mrs. Madsen lost whatever composure she'd maintained and was now sobbing uncontrollably on Faith's breast.

"Tell me what he looked like! Did he say anything?"

Faith patted the woman on the back. Mr. Madsen hovered next to his wife. His face seemed to have shut down when he got the news and not opened up again. He was silent, waiting for Faith's reply, too.

"He was ... he was at peace. I know he didn't suffer"- there hadn't been time-"and I'm afraid he was already gone when I got there."

Mrs. Madsen lifted her face to Faith's. She smelled 205.

faintly of some kind of floral toilet water, the kind you give your mother on Mother's Day when you're a child.

"Thank you."

Bonnie, who had been sitting motionless with the baby as all this was going on, stood up and guided her mother-in-law back to where they were sitting. It wasn't that Joey's widow didn't look at Faith; she looked through Faith. Fix slipped her arm around her friend and they moved on. Faith realized she was trembling.

"Dear G.o.d, these poor people," Fix said. Sam came up behind them. "Let's go get something to eat. Samantha's with the kids and you don't have to go home yet. You need a drink, and I wouldn't mind one myself."

Gratefully, Faith let the Millers lead the way. On the way out, Millicent stopped them.

"Nothing is going to be right until we find out who's responsible for all this." When she closed her mouth on the words, it made a grim line across the bottom of her face, a line sharply accented by the unvarying shade of red lipstick she favored.

Faith nodded and started walking. She really wanted to get away. Away from the fury of Bonnie Madsen's grief. The candles they were burning smelled sweet, like the incense that would be used in tomorrow's Ma.s.s. She was beginning to feel queasy.

Fix had a question, though. "Did any of the Deanes seem upset to see you or other POW! members here? Lora used to baby-sit for us and I don't think they a.s.sociated us with the group, but it might have been different for you." Faith stopped to listen.

"No, no one expressed anything other than thanks for my words of comfort. I wouldn't have expected otherwise. I've known Gus all my life," Millicent replied.

Faith was feeling better. "And that would be ..."

Millicent smiled sweetly and left.

It was hard to find food in the suburbs, unless you wanted to drive to Waltham, which had unaccountably become the 206.

mecca for innovative, excellent chefs outside Boston or Cambridge. To get a quick meal, you had to settle for a chain or choose warily from the menu at the Aleford Inn. They went to the inn. Sam ordered some scotch for himself and sweet vermouth for his wife and asked Faith what she wanted. She knew enough not to order the house wine and joined Fix in some vermouth-but dry.

The trick with the inn was to avoid anything with a foreign name or fancy sauce. No chicken a la Versailles or scrod with hazelnut sorrel cream. Scrod simply broiled accompanied by the inn's thick-cut french fries, the skin left on, was delicious, though, and all of them ordered the same thing. They opted for the vegetable of the day, carrot pennies, rather than the house iceberg-lettuce salad with Thousand Island dressing. They'd tested those waters before. When the food arrived, Faith ate hungrily.

"Remember, just a memorial service and maybe a few words at the grave," Fix was reminding Sam. The Millers had a plot on Sanpere Island in Maine, where Fix's father was buried. It was a lovely cemetery surrounded by birch and evergreens. Faith thought it might not be a bad place to end up. Her thoughts were determinedly morbid. Joey was only a few years older than Tom and she. But then they weren't going to get themselves killed. Not that Joey had chosen this course, but something he did had led to murder. His murder.

"Who do you think killed him?" she asked Sam straight out.

Sam took the question in stride. He chewed reflectively.

"I wish I could think it was someone from away." He used the term the natives on Sanpere applied to anyone not born there-a category distinct from summer people and tourists; people who lived there but weren't from there.

"But you don't."

"No, I'm afraid I think it's someone he knew well; someone we all know. But d.a.m.ned if I can come up with who that someone is."

Faith and Fix nodded their heads simultaneously in 207.

agreement. They looked like the ornaments people put in their car's rear windows. They bobbed again. Someone they all knew.

The funeral was as sad as-and even more crowded than- the wake. Cars lined the side streets near the church. There were also a number of pickups and vans with the names of various local construction companies. Joey's colleagues had come to pay their last respects. Inside the church, Faith half-expected the pallbearers to be followed by a contingent of hard hats, uniformed like a police funeral. The police were there; both Charley and John sat in a pew near the door. As Faith and Tom walked by toward the front of St. Theresa's, John leaned out. "Are you going to be home later this afternoon?"

They would be now and told him so.

It was a long service. Father Reeves was accompanied by the priest from Joey's old church in Somerville, who drew tears when he described Joey as an altar boy, Joey in CYO. Faith tried not to think about what Scott Phelan had told her the night of the Fletchers' dinner party. Maybe Joseph Madsen's feet had strayed from the path, but they were there once, and this could be one of the reasons his mother was crying so hard.

The interment was in a cemetery in East Boston, where his grandparents lay at rest. Tom was going, but told Faith she should pick up the kids and stay home. Enough was enough.

She spent the afternoon engaged in quality time, aware that she hadn't exactly been piling up points for her motherhood merit badge. She read to Amy until she went down for her nap. Ben was doing Legos on the floor next to them. It was a baby book, he'd declared, but Faith knew he was listening intently as the Poky Little Puppy made his distinctive way through dogdom.

Tom came home. It had started to rain as soon as they reached the cemetery, of course, he told her. A sodden spring. It meant a hot, dry summer everyone said-the 208.

same people who knew the wind velocity merely by glancing at a swaying branch. The catering company was air-conditioned; the parsonage was not. Faith figured on doing a lot of cooking. She would, in fact, be doing a lot of cooking this week. They'd accepted several jobs and had a wedding the following weekend.

She looked out the front window. The rain hadn't reached Aleford yet, but Detective Lieutenant Dunne had. He was coming up the front walk, covering the distance in several fewer steps than most. She opened the door before he could knock.

"Good, you're home," he said, and walked in. "Tom, too?" There was a distinct note of hope in his voice.

"Tom, too," Faith a.s.sured him.

Tom had told Faith that Dunne had been in East Boston, as well. It was hard for him to be un.o.btrusive, but he'd remained at a distance from the main body of mourners.

He sat down, removed his raincoat, but refused Faith's offer of nourishment, as usual. The man must eat like a horse when he got home, she thought. Some form of nourishment was preventing any withering away of flesh from his immense frame. She'd been to the state police barracks and aside from some ancient, moldy-looking sandwiches in a machine next to one that dispensed soft drinks, there wasn't a sc.r.a.p of food in evidence. She pictured Dunne's wife, who Faith had heard was a mere slip of a woman, valiantly stirring large pots and turning a spit with huge haunches of meat. Faith was so distracted by her mental images, she almost missed John's first words.