The Body in the Birches (22 page)

Sophie looked down. She had peeled a potato almost to the size of a pea and was about to start on her hand. She shook her head to try to clear it.

It didn't work. Will. What about Will Tarkington? Their mutual attraction had become clear to both of them. Hadn't it? He was wonderful to Uncle Paul, a decent, loyal man. Right? Ian was a snake. Will was a pussycat. No, that wasn't right. Too tame. Her thoughts froze for the moment at “Will is . . .” and then moved on. It was a sentence she couldn't complete, because she had absolutely no idea who Will was. What he did, where, even who . . . ?

Her luck didn't hold, and an hour later, Ian found Sophie on the shore after he returned with the others. She thought she'd be safe
from everyone, especially him, and could try to gather her wits in the calm before the storm. It had seemed like perfect timing.

She'd been sitting by the lighthouse, thinking back to her other life, B.I.—Before Ian. Just a year ago she was steadily climbing the ladder of success by all sorts of measures—job, apartment, clothes—especially shoes. Great shoes. She'd tossed it all away for love. And it
was
love. At least on her part. She looked up at the lighthouse, long since decommissioned and replaced by an automatic light and horn on the rocky shoal farther out that ships were meant to avoid. She hadn't avoided the rocky shoal that was Ian and the sad part was that all the lights, bells, and whistles in the world wouldn't have saved her.

When she was little, the lighthouse was open and they used to play in it. Several years ago there had been some sort of accident. A death. She kept meaning to ask Faith Fairchild about it. Apparently she had been involved. Now the lighthouse was kept locked up tight. Sophie got up and pressed the brass door handle, worn smooth over time. She was surprised when the latch clicked and she could push the door open. She pulled it shut, wondering whom she should tell. It needed to be locked again, but she wasn't sure whether her family or the Rowes owned it.

She was starting to walk back to the house when she remembered there used to be a spare key on a hook, hidden by the beach roses that had grown up on the sides of the lighthouse. It was rusty, but it was still there. For a moment she thought about weathering the storm inside, watching from the top where the light with a Fresnel lens—now in a museum—had been. It would be safe in more ways than one. Instead, she locked up and was thinking she should be getting back to The Birches when Ian's voice intruded.

“Tuppence for your thoughts?”

Sophie quickly pocketed the key. It could give Ian ideas—ideas that she just might be too weak to resist. Remember the drawer filled with rings, she told herself. Remember the redhead in his arms.

“Sorry, they're not for sale,” she said and started walking.

He grabbed her wrist. “Sophie! A day hasn't gone by that I haven't thought of you and the way I treated you. How I totally blew my only chance for happiness. The girl you saw was a temp at the firm and meant nothing. What you saw was a one-off. Honestly.”

Sophie pulled free. “A ‘one-off'? In this country we call that kind of book a ‘stand-alone,' and I believe it's my cue to leave.”

Suddenly she felt extremely happy. Euphoric. She began laughing. The first real laughter she could recall for months.

“You're hysterical. It's the weather. The storm.” Ian clearly thought she was unhinged. “We'll talk later. This isn't over. I won't give up. I love you!”

“Oh no you don't. But I hope you think you do, because then you'll have a taste of your own medicine, as you ‘stand alone.' Oh, I sound like a teenager. I feel like a teenager. Thank you, Ian!”

She pulled off her sandals and ran down the beach, her bare feet leaving footprints on the wet sand. She felt free as a bird. The gulls were screeching like mad overhead, and she thought they had never sounded so sweet.

The storm began that night at around eight. The muggy, still air suddenly released a torrent of rain, just like a tent that has filled up and sent its contents streaming over the sides into the ground. No wind, just a downpour like other summer downpours. A tease.

Paul McAllister had been right and almost everyone had gathered in the living room. The radio was tuned to the local channel, which was broadcasting storm updates. Sophie was washing up with Sylvia and Autumn's help, much to her surprise.

“We can put some plates of cookies out and lemonade,” Sophie said. “People always get hungry waiting for something to happen. A storm, a party, a baby . . .” She was babbling.

“Why don't you do that, Sophie? I want a word with Autumn,” Sylvia said.

Autumn clearly did not want a word with her mother, but Sylvia barred the way after Sophie went through with the food and drink.

When Sophie returned whatever “word” Sylvia had said had produced an Autumn Sophie had never seen. Her face was a mask of fury. Sylvia's back was to her, and Sophie stood still, not wanting to interrupt what was clearly a private mother/daughter conversation. Make that argument.

“The answer is no, Sylvia. Plain no,” Autumn said, spitting each word out. Sylvia's older two children had used her first name for as long as Sophie could remember. Autumn's inflection made it sound like an expletive.

“Is it asking too much for you to simply be nice to him? You always liked him and Aunt Priscilla. I'm sure he thinks you're avoiding him. That you don't want to be with an oldie. You haven't said two words to Paul so far as I know. Simon and his family are bending over backward to include him in their vacation and you can't be bothered. Because you're so busy doing God knows what. Where you go I don't know and I don't want—”

“Shut up! Just shut up,” Autumn hissed. She could see Sophie but didn't stop talking. “I didn't want to come to Sanpere this summer. You know that. I wanted to stay close to my sponsor and meetings. And for your information, I've been clean for eight months—in rehab and out. But you had to produce the perfect family in order to get The Birches. Heaven forbid Uncle Paul should leave it to someone else. I don't want it! And if you don't leave me alone, I'll tell him I don't. Rory will, too. I don't know how much you paid him to come, but I know what you gave me and you can have it back. As soon as the storm is over, I'm flying home to California. I never should have caved.”

Sylvia turned slightly and saw Sophie. “Just a little tiff, Sophie dear.” She left the kitchen abruptly.

Sophie immediately went over to her cousin and put her arms
around her. Autumn was so thin, Sophie was afraid if she hugged her as hard as she wanted to, she'd break the fragile bird bones.

“I'm so sorry. I wish I had known. Wish I could have helped.”

Autumn's head fit under Sophie's chin, and her soft, shining hair smelled like lilies.

“I was the only person who could help me and that's what I finally did—and am doing. One day at a time. There was nothing you or anyone else could do. Later I'll tell you the whole story, but the short version is I started a lot of stuff when my dad left—no excuse, just a fact—and by the time I was out of high school I was using. Sylvia never noticed except when she had to call the EMTs or whatever, and then I'd get locked up in my room with lectures and a ton of brown rice to cleanse my toxins.”

Sophie decided to ditch any brown rice concoctions unless they got desperate.

“Rory talked me into going into rehab—he'd been trying for years, but at last I was scared for real. And tired. So tired. He made Sylvia pay for it. He's been amazing.”

“I'm here for you now, too. On this coast or out on yours.”

“You are a sweetheart, Sophie. Always were.” Autumn straightened up. “I've been walking miles since I came—that's where I've been—and I lied to Sylvia. I
do
love Sanpere, and The Birches, but I don't want it. None of us do, although Daisy is too young to know what she wants. Believe it or not, Rory is kind of like the dad in our family, and he's worried about Daisy being with Sylvia. Sylvia's got a new guy and we don't think he wants a kid around. Unfortunately, Daisy's dad didn't, either. I guess none of ours did. I couldn't get custody or legal guardianship, whatever, but Rory is going to try.”

This had been the longest train of thought, and most heartfelt, Sophie had ever heard from her cousin. She realized they were both crying a little. She hugged Autumn again and whispered, “Whenever you need me, call. I'll come.”

“Thanks. That means the world. Oh, and Sophie—Will knows. I don't know how, but he confronted me when I first got here and told me the same thing. That he was here for me if I needed him. He's been great. ‘No judging.' That's what he said.”

After she finished, Autumn said she wanted to go to bed and headed for the bunkhouse, promising to come back if the storm got worse. Sophie couldn't bring herself to go into the living room. Too many people she wanted to avoid.

And one she didn't.

Over at The Pines, the kids had draped blankets over some chairs to make a kind of cave. They were inside playing Uno, darting out occasionally to check on the weather.

“Call this a hurricane,” Amy said standing near the window and peering out through the crack between the shutters. “Humph!” She'd picked up the expression, and hands on hips pose, from Gert Prescott.

“I'm afraid my children thrive on storms, the more dramatic the better. Amy won't be satisfied until the thunder and lightning start,” Faith said to Ursula.

“A few times
my
very foolish children used to dash out to get a closer look. It's a wonder they never got struck,” Ursula said.

“We used to get annoyed when the power
didn't
go out,” Pix added. “One of the signs of aging. Praying we don't lose power and hoping storms pass us by.”

Down in Massachusetts Faith knew the Fairchilds were probably functioning as Storm Central for the neighborhood. Tom had told her that his mother was demanding to be discharged so she could see the storm with her family. As if it were one of her beloved special exhibits at the Museum of Fine Arts or the Gardner. Her doctor wasn't swayed and apparently Marian was having to content herself with surfing between the Weather Channel and New England Cable News. Faith had assured Tom that all was
well, and so far it was. Upstairs Ben was probably reading manga on this laptop. She wasn't pressing him to join the rest of them. This was definitely a time he needed to be by himself. Aside from a walk, a brief phone call to Tyler, and a hastily eaten dinner, he'd stayed put since they returned from the Lodge.

“Wind is picking up,” Sam Miller said. “Starting to come down the chimneys.”

Amy, Dana, and Daisy scuttled out of their hideaway and rushed to the windows, trying to peer out through the storm shutters. The lights flickered.

“Wow,” Daisy said. “This is great!”

The wind picked up even more, and what had been a pleasant sort of “whooo” coming down the chimneys became more of a howl. The electricity flickered once more and went out completely. After Faith helped light the lanterns and candles, she grabbed a flashlight. She knew it didn't make sense, but she wanted Ben down with the rest of them.

“Be back in a minute. I'll get Ben. He'll want some of the hot chocolate Samantha is making.”

Upstairs she knocked on the bedroom door and went in. The room was empty. Ben's laptop was closed; the battery power was glowing, and the sleek silver case seemed almost alive in the dark.

“Ben?” Faith could see he wasn't in bed, but something made her call out anyway.

He must be in the bathroom, she told herself. But he wasn't. He wasn't in any of the other rooms, either. Silently she went back to the room where he was staying, her fears mounting. She opened the closet door and trained the beam on the clothes. There weren't many and Faith immediately saw his rain gear was missing. She pointed the light onto the floor. So were his boots.

The next clap of thunder was so close Faith felt the house shake.

Her son was out in the hurricane.

The storm had caused an unexpected change in Mandy's plans. The plan she had shared with Ben Thursday as he had made his way back to The Pines from work was that she'd be off the island well before Cary arrived.

He'd been tired and his steps had slowed after he'd passed the Hitchcock house. He was startled—and relieved—when Mandy darted out, pulling him into the birch grove, well away from the road.

And then she'd told him everything. Starting with why she'd left work so suddenly. Going into the kitchen for more silverware, she'd overheard one of the maintenance crew who was also a volunteer with the ambulance corps tell his buddy he had to answer a call—“Looks like Dwayne Hitchcock has finally bought the farm.” Mandy had immediately taken off for Little Sanpere, leaving her car behind her neighbor's house, knowing they weren't home, before going around through the woods to the back of hers. She'd raced inside and gone upstairs to her room, which was in the front. Through the open window she could see and hear everything happening in the yard.

“It looked like he'd been shooting up and that's what they
were saying. Heroin overdose,” she'd told Ben. “I knew right away that wasn't possible. Dwayne would pass out if you waved a safety pin at him. No way would he stick a needle anywhere in his body. Somebody else did it and they must have knocked him out with something first. Mom is at work, so they're going to think it was me.”

Ben had started to contradict her—how could anyone possibly think Mandy was a killer?—but she'd cut him off and haltingly told him why she would be the main suspect. What her father—if he really was—had been doing for years. Ben thought he would explode. If Dwayne Hitchcock hadn't already been dead, Ben swore to himself he would have done the deed. Right away he had asked Mandy why her mother hadn't stopped Dwayne from hurting her. All Mandy had done was shake her head and say, “She's pretty good at not seeing, if you know what I mean.”

Mandy had proceeded to explain her plan. She'd already moved her car to a clearing behind a summer person's house she knew was unoccupied. She wasn't about to break into the empty house but instead would hide in the lighthouse while she tried to get in touch with an older girl she had waitressed with last summer. Sally lived near Waterville and had told Mandy if she ever needed help to call. She had guessed about the source of Mandy's bruises and urged her to leave home. They'd been in touch all year, and Mandy had pretty much made up her mind to take Sally up on her offer even before today. She'd wanted to make some more money at the Lodge first, though.

Sally wasn't answering her phone, even texts, all day Friday. Mandy had finally reached her this morning, but Cary's arrival meant she had to stay put until after the hurricane. When she'd told Ben, she'd added, “Maybe the Staties will find the real killer by then.”

Ben had immediately thought about telling his mother and had even told Mandy about some of the murders Faith had solved, but Mandy wasn't convinced.

All night, first when it started to rain heavily and later as the winds picked up, buffeting the house, shrieking in the trees, Ben had been worried about Mandy alone in the lighthouse. Once the thunder and lightning arrived and the electricity went out, Ben couldn't stay inside any longer. When he had brought Mandy the food, she had been sure she'd be safe and sound in the lighthouse.

“It would take more than a hurricane to bring it down, Ben. Don't worry. Think of all the storms it's been through.”

But Ben wasn't so sure. The lighthouse was the tallest thing around. What if it got struck by lightning? What if Mandy was looking out one of the windows at the top or the smaller slits along the stairs and a bolt came shooting through, striking her? He had to make sure she was all right. Convince her to leave. The Pines had back stairs—no one would see them—and she could stay in his room until the storm died down.

Outside the wind was fierce and the lightning was like a giant strobe. Ben ran down the long path to the beach and across to the lighthouse. He pushed the handle down and shoved the door. It didn't budge; he tried again.

It was locked! Had Mandy locked it from the inside? He pounded his fists against it and screamed her name. And then he saw her face at one of the small windows, the one lowest to the ground, but still far above his head. She looked terrified. He waved to reassure her. She'd shown him where the key was hidden and Ben ducked around, slipping on the wet rocks. The huge beach rose bushes were bent sideways from the wind. He trained the flashlight on the lighthouse wall and reached for the key with his hand.

It wasn't there.

He got down on his knees and felt along the ground, knowing that he wouldn't find it, but he had to try. The key had been attached to a ring embedded in the stone itself. The strongest wind couldn't dislodge the carabiner-type clasp. Someone had taken it.

Mandy was locked in.

After the power went out, Sophie tried reading by flashlight. She hadn't been able to get back to
The Goldfinch
, and it was calling to her. But it was awkward holding the light and the thick book, plus she felt her eyelids start to droop. She gave in, put the book down, and turned off the flashlight. Outside her window, which wasn't shuttered—none of the back ones were—the hurricane was starting to fulfill all the most dire predictions. But soon Sophie was asleep, sound asleep, blissfully unaware and deep in a pleasant dream. She felt lips brush her cheek and then seek her lips. A hand was pulling back the bedding. “Will?” she murmured.

Her eyes flew open as the kiss became harder and the hand cupped her breast. She reached to turn on the light before remembering the power must still be off. Sitting up and struggling out of bed, she took a breath and smelled a familiar smell. An expensive one. She didn't need the flash of lightning that lit up the room to know who it was.

“Ian! What do you think you're doing? Stop it!”

He didn't—murmuring endearments instead—and just when she thought she might have to start screaming or try to do some serious damage to his person with her flashlight, her door opened. More lightning flashed briefly, and another male voice said, “No means no, mister. Maybe not where you come from, but it does here. Sophie, I need you to help me. Get your rain gear. I'll explain on the way.”

Ian jerked away sputtering, “What the hell!”

“Ben Fairchild, is that you?” Sophie said.

“Yes, it's me. Sorry, I forgot to turn my flashlight on. I'm trying to save the batteries. But please just come! And don't listen to this guy. He has some deal going with your cousin and his friend. He's supposed to ‘charm' you. That's why he's here. They hired him or something. I heard them at lunch. Now hurry! Please!”

There was no escaping the desperation in Ben's voice, and Sophie started reaching for more clothes.

When he couldn't find the key, Ben had tried frantically to
think who might have one or know where one was. When Sophie Maxwell took care of them, they often came to this beach and went inside the lighthouse, which was open in those days. Sophie was his best bet. Once decided, he took off with a final wave to Mandy. Besides, Sophie was the adult he thought would help without a lot of fuss, and The Birches was the closest house. He just hoped he could get Sophie alone. He hadn't really thought how he could explain what he was doing there otherwise. He headed straight for the back door. When he'd walked Daisy back one time, Sophie had come out of her room, which was right off the kitchen. He prayed she was there now—and by herself.

Well, part of his prayer had been answered. He wanted to explain more and say something about the lighthouse key, but he didn't want that Ian guy to hear. “Chap” he guessed was a better word. That Ian chap. He was the type who'd call the police and tell them where Mandy was. Ben knew Sophie wouldn't.

“I think you should leave now. Go back to your own room,” Ben said.

“Sophie! Who is this kid?” Ian was furious. “What's going on?”

“You tell
me
what's going on, Ian! Or rather, don't. I can guess. Now, you heard Ben. Get out.”

Ben held the door open and waited until Ian was beyond earshot.

“Mandy's locked in the lighthouse. She's been there since her father got killed. But she didn't do it.” Ben's words were racing together. He slowed down and got to the point. “Do you know where there might be a key?”

Sophie had been pulling her jeans on in the dark. She grabbed her flashlight, flicked it on, and directed it toward her pocket.

“It just so happens I have one right here. Let's go!”

A figure stood looking out the window as Sophie left the house. The lightning was coming in waves; the entire yard was bathed
in brilliant Technicolor, then, as if a switch was pulled, the scene plunged into darkness. Ben, following behind, didn't make it on-screen. Now where could she be going? She's headed for the woods, not the bunkhouse. Everyone is in bed. It can't be a tryst. Not in this weather. If I hurry, I can do it now! I'm getting so good at this. It was smart to practice on Bev. And Dwayne was plain fun. Slow down, little Sophie, I'm coming.

Fortunately The Pines was well stocked with foul-weather gear. Thinking she must look like the old salt on the Gorton's fish sticks package, Faith made her way to the beach. Ben may have overheard Ursula say how her children used to go out in the storm. Doing so would certainly fit her son's current mood, and she pictured him sitting on a rock, letting the elements act out what he was feeling inside.

She'd grabbed the largest flashlight she could find, and it threw a long beam up and down the shore. Nothing.

It was hard to keep her balance. The gale almost knocked her down twice, and she went back up the path to the point where it branched off toward The Birches—the path that led through the grove of the trees.

The place she had found Sophie leaning over Bev's dead body.

Maybe Ben went to The Birches. But for what? Certainly not to see Rory. Or maybe to
see
Rory. To have it out with him again. Did Ben suspect the man had something to do with Mandy's disappearance? Faith tried to run, but the force of the wind slowed her steps.

“Oh, Ben,” she cried aloud. “Where are you!”

Sophie tripped on a root and landed flat on her face, her arms splayed out, having tried in vain to cushion her fall.

“Are you okay?” Ben yelled in her ear. She could scarcely hear him over the storm.

She shook her head no and gingerly got to her knees. She didn't know whether her face was bleeding or wet from the rain, but her right cheek hurt like crazy and she was pretty sure she'd sprained her right wrist as well.

She dug in her pocket with her good hand. “Take the key!” she yelled back. “Bring her to the bunkhouse. I'll make sure Rory and Autumn understand what's going on. And, Ben, be careful!”

“Rory?” A lull made Ben's doubtful voice audible.

“He's a good guy. Don't worry. You two just got off on the wrong foot. Now go! It's only going to get worse out!”

Faith saw the two figures and quickened her pace, pushing herself as hard as she could. She realized one was Sophie when the sky filled with a bright flash of light. She couldn't make out the other, and then the two separated. Lightning flashed again and she could see it was Ben coming straight toward her! Faith stood still. A few seconds later, he almost knocked her down.

“Mom!” he cried. She didn't know whether to hug him or maybe smack him. She went for the hug and heard his voice in her ear saying, “Oh shit . . .”

Sophie started back toward the house. Branches were falling like pickup sticks. She cradled her wrist while trying to hold the flashlight beam steady. She didn't want to fall again. With her gaze on the ground, she missed seeing a person step from behind a tree in front of her.

But she didn't miss the person's tough grip as two hands came from behind and two arms wrapped around her body, pinning her own arms to her sides. Her first thought was that Ian had followed her. She tried to jerk free, screaming over the wind, “Stop it, Ian. Let me go!”

“It's not Ian,” a familiar voice said close to her ear. Sophie relaxed.
Of course they had noticed she wasn't in the house and sent out a search party.

“I'm okay. It's a long story, but I'm coming back in now. I think I hurt my wrist, though.” The wind had died down, producing a deceptive moment of calm, and her words were clear. So was the answer.

“Oh, I don't think you need to worry about your wrist.” Sophie twisted around, saw the syringe, and looked into a face she had known all her life, the face, she now realized, of someone who was totally insane.

She was going to die.

Cousin Sylvia was about to kill her.

Again the wind howled. Finding energy in the sound, Sophie kicked hard at Sylvia, but the woman was surprisingly strong. Possibly all those years of yoga? With a sure hand, she pulled up the loose sleeve of Sophie's rain jacket and aimed for a vein.

“Noooo!” Sophie let herself go limp and pulled her cousin to the ground, trying to roll away from her. The next flash of lightning revealed she had rolled closer instead. The hand with the needle was coming down, down, inexorably down.

And then it stopped. Two sounds, not from nature, filled the air. A gunshot—and a more familiar voice.

“Stop it this instant, Sylvia. And Will, what in God's name are you doing with my gun?”

It was Mother. Babs had made it to The Birches.

Hurricane Cary was not in and of itself one for the books, but no one in the two houses—or the lighthouse—on the Point would ever forget it. Sunday dawned clear and crisp. The sound of chain saws filled the air as island residents cleaned up the storm damage and all the supposed blowdowns by the shore that had been blocking their views. “Blowdowns” that no one could challenge and levy a fine for clear-cutting.