The Body In The Bog (8 page)

She thought about the other letters as she wrapped the dough for freezing. Why wasn't Brad's signed? Could Joey, in some twisted way, actually consider
himself a friend of the others? He'd known them all long enough. Brad was a newcomer. Maybe Joey didn't want to presume. It was laughable in the face of the act.

“Whoever it is, Joey, Bonnie, Mr. or Ms. X, it's someone who's really rather rude.” Pix's emphatic voice cut into Faith's thoughts.

“We could all agree with that,” Niki said dryly.

“What I mean is everything in the letters is common knowledge in Aleford. He or she hasn't revealed something that most people don't already know. So it's simply plain bad taste to mention it. None of
us
would.”

It made sense. “Not blackmail material, just reminders of hurtful times. Except for the Batcheldors. What about them?” Faith asked.

“Think about it. What could you bring up? Margaret has spent her life looking at the world through rose-colored binoculars and Nelson, when he's not trekking along behind her, has his nose buried in a book. But they signed the letter, so they had to be included.”

Faith thought about mentioning her close encounter of the weird kind with the Batcheldors, then decided not to. She wanted to mull this over some more. Did the letter writer know what the Batcheldors were up to in the woods? She resolved to take another stroll there herself, avoiding the bog and definitely not taking the kids. Amy was well on the way to developing ski maskaphobia.

Pix left to get ready for her husband's late-night return, although Faith was not sure what this entailed.
With kids in residence, it didn't mean a black lace nightie or, in Pix's case, a fatted calf of any sort. Most likely, it involved making sure they had a bottle of Laphroaig, his favorite scotch, that Danny wouldn't have a friend sleeping over, and that Samantha honored her curfew. Peace and calm in the wee hours of the morning—with no mail delivery.

Faith and Niki worked a bit longer and then closed up shop. Niki changed into a tiny silver satin dress before she left. Faith loved it on her. A much more intriguing look than the girl in black about Niki's age whom Faith had seen on the subway recently with a broken wineglass wired to her bodice.

“Definitely not the corporate-wife image,” she commented as Niki stuffed her work clothes into a bag.

“Maybe what she has on underneath,” Niki said. “Don't tell Mom, but this dress is a slip.”

 

Monday morning always comes, and Faith was rushing around tidying up, all the while reflecting on the absurdity of the effort. The toddlers weren't going to notice whether the parsonage was dusty—or even if it was standing, so long as there was plenty of juice and crackers. Yet their mothers, even in their usual blink-of-an-eye drop-off, would. But play group was a blessing. Normally, the children all went to a lovely woman who had been providing day care for Aleford's little ones for years. One of the reasons she was able to remain so lovely, and in business, was that she very sensibly took a week off every once in a while, and then the mothers took the children in turn. One's
own turn came infrequently enough to be only a minor inconvenience. Faith had discovered with Ben, however, that some of the mothers went slightly over the edge when it was their morning to shine. One day he'd come home with an enormous cookie shaped like little Ben and decorated in exquisite detail right down to the exact colors of his rainbow sneaker laces. Faith stuck to play dough, two colors, and, weather permitting, a walk across the street to the green, where the children could roll around on the hallowed turf to their heart's content. This was the plan for this morning, as well.

Hastily buffing some brass candlesticks while Amy occupied herself in picking out all the raisins from her bran muffin, Faith hoped Charley could get Joey to admit that he'd authored, if that was the correct word for the method employed, the “friendly” letters. Madsen was the most obvious suspect.

As they sat in church the day before, it was apparent that the word had been spread—and not the word Tom was preaching. The pleasant buzz of conversation and greetings before the service was missing. It seemed as if everyone had waited until the last minute and then hastily filed in just before the stroke of eleven. What talk there was tended to be furtive and hushed. It was the same at coffee hour. The Millers and the Batcheldors were there, but people were avoiding them, giving them a sympathetic nod in passing, yet unsure of what to say. It wasn't a death—or a birth. It was perhaps something they weren't even supposed to know about.

Faith wondered if the letters had stopped. She'd
call Charley later and tell him what Pix had said—that whoever it was was writing about things everybody knew, indicating it had to be someone living in town, but maybe somebody who didn't know its deepest, darkest secrets—or was too polite to mention them. Not that the letters showed an excess of good manners. In exchange, Charley might tell her what he'd been doing.

Had Millicent read Charley her letter? She'd been vague about it. Faith couldn't think of anything about Millicent that you'd bother cutting up a magazine for. Overweening pride? Ancestor worship? Maybe she really wasn't a descendant of the midnight rider through his fourth cousin once removed and her whole life was a sham. But Millicent lectured all over the state on virtually every aspect of the Revere family, from what they ate to what they wrought. She was the pillar of the DAR, Historical Society; anything remotely connected with the glorious past, as her parents had been and so forth. Faith wondered why Millicent had never married. Surely she would have considered it her obligation to carry on the line. Maybe there was something there. Millicent left at the altar—but who would dare? Or maybe Millicent wasn't the end of the line—but again, who would dare? Besides, wed or unwed, if Millicent had produced any progeny, she'd have raised her child herself and done the job thoroughly. Goodness knows, she had opinions enough on the way others raised theirs. Millicent may not have literally taken to the rod, but she would definitely not have spoiled the child.

Faith looked over to see how her own child was doing. She had managed to cover herself with a layer of fine crumbs and there was a raisin pasted to her cheek with spit. Faith grabbed a cloth. Romper Room would be starting any minute. Everything was ready. The only thing Faith had to remember was to keep on eye on little Jeffrey, who ate the play dough, yucky as it was. He ate paste, too.

She scrubbed at Amy's sticky cheeks and brushed some of the crumbs from her fine blond hair. She wished she could tell Charley about Lora Deane's calls and see if he thought there was any connection to the letters. The next selectmen's meeting was Wednesday night. It hadn't even been a week since Faith had walked in on Tom and the nursery school teacher. All weekend, she and Tom had taken turns calling Lora to find out what her sister, Bonnie, had said. Contrary to the advice of the police, and common sense, Lora had left a cheery message on her machine informing callers that she was out of town, presumably having fun, and to please leave a message. They did, but Lora hadn't called back.

“At least we haven't had to worry about her. If we'd been getting no answer all weekend, I'd have had to go over there and check up on her,” Tom had said at breakfast. He was leaving early in hopes of getting a word with her when he dropped Ben off.

“True, but it is pretty silly to advertise the fact that your place is empty.”

“I doubt she has much, honey. What do stuffed animals bring on the street these days?”

Faith hadn't heard from Tom this morning and assumed this meant he hadn't been able to get the teacher alone. She resolved to pin Miss Lora down herself after school and bring her back to the parsonage for lunch.

 

The morning went by with blessed speed. The toddlers had left the place relatively intact, although it was going to be a job getting the play dough from behind the kitchen radiator.

Everything was going according to plan. Lora accepted the invitation eagerly—maybe she was getting tired of peanut butter and jelly—and Faith was able to get her alone after lunch. Amy had nodded off into her tapioca pudding and Ben was sequestered with Tin-Tin on Nickelodeon, Lora having promised to take him for a walk afterward all by himself. He could hardly contain his excitement and after interrupting them for the third time, asking, “Is it time yet?” Faith had snapped at him, “No, and it isn't going to be if you come in once more,” thereby revealing in front of her child's teacher what a bad mother she truly was. Miss Lora did, in fact, look a bit sorrowful. Faith couldn't wait for her to have kids of her own—kids in residence.

Over a second helping of tapioca, which Lora seemed to enjoy as much as the Fairchild children, she confided that Bonnie had not responded exactly as Lora had hoped. Faith was annoyed with herself for not having predicted the outcome, or at the least its strong “kill the messenger” possibility.

“She was ripping,” Lora said. “Now she won't even talk to me. Everyone in the family's going to find out, if they haven't already, and it's going to be all my fault.”

“Did she come right out and deny it, or didn't you get that far?” Faith asked.

Lora obediently started from the beginning. “I called her up and asked if I could go over there to see the baby. He really is the sweetest thing, little pudgy cheeks, the kind you just have to nibble.”

Faith added Cabbage Patch dolls to what she already knew to be a sizable collection of teddy bears. Miss Lora told the kids stories about them.

“We spent time with little Joey; then she put him down for a nap, so I figured it was a good time to talk. I told her about the calls and she was very sympathetic at first. I was kind of embarrassed to bring it up, but I said straight out, ‘You know, Bonnie, Joey has been pretty upset because I wouldn't lend him the money for the Estates. You don't think he's doing this to kind of get back at me, do you?'”

Faith could picture the scene. She'd been in Bonnie's kitchen once, dropping off some large containers of Have Faith eggplant lasagna Bonnie had ordered for a luncheon her women's club was having. The room was so clean, you wondered if it had ever been used, but Faith could see plates of cookies and brownies that surely had not come from boxes. The house was only a few years old and still looked like a model home. There wasn't any clutter, not even the kind Faith tolerated—out of the way in baskets or behind
closed cabinets. No sign of a morning paper, no pictures except one that perfectly picked out the color of the tile floor and matching curtains. It was of a large fish surrounded by either offspring or prey, depending on one's point of view. There wasn't even a Post-It next to the phone or on the gleaming fridge. Bonnie kept her life in absolute order without reminders. Faith knew instinctively this was a woman who used leaf polish on her houseplants.

“I didn't know how mad she was at first, because she didn't say anything. Just sat there. I started to tell her I was sure I was wrong. I mean, she was beginning to scare me. Staring off into space, with her hands folded on the table. Then she stood up and told me to get out of her house. I couldn't believe it. Bonnie, my own sister—well, half sister. So I tried to tell her that this was all crazy—to forget I'd said anything and let bygones be bygones.”

“What did she do?”

“She wasn't even listening to me, kept kind of moving me to the door. She grabbed my jacket and pushed it at me. ‘Just leave, Lora,' she said. So I did.”

But, Faith said to herself, she didn't deny it. Out loud, she asked, “This was on Thursday. Have you heard from her or anyone else in the family since?”

“Not directly. I was gone over the weekend. Normally, I have Sunday dinner at my grandparents. We all do. My grandmother knew I wasn't going to be there, but she called Friday afternoon late and asked me if I could change my plans. So maybe Bonnie told her. I never got a call before when I haven't been able
to make it. At that point, even if I could have gone, I wouldn't have. You don't know how they can get. Everyone would be on Joey's side, and I just couldn't take it.”

“What about your brothers?”

“Well, maybe they'd be better, especially Eddie. But as I told you, family is family and I was wrong to accuse Joey, especially to his wife. I see that now.”

Faith didn't. Lora was trying to get help and it was unfortunate that her sister had reacted the way she had.

“Lora, I really think you ought to tell Charley. I've found out a little more about Brad, and he does seem to be capable of violence—at least to his bedroom wall.”

“I heard about that.” Lora sounded contemptuous. “But he'd never hit me. He knows I wouldn't stand for it, nor would my family. And, as I told you, I am not telling the police. Especially not now.” There was pride in her voice. Lora might not be the most popular member at the moment, yet she knew their priorities. She might have broken the Deane code, but they would come to her defense if she needed it.

Faith played to her family feeling. “Then if you still won't go to the police, tell your grandparents. I'm sure you've heard about the letters people have been getting, and there may be some connection with the calls.”

She'd forgotten that Lora had been away and so wouldn't have heard about the letters. She filled her in, and the teacher was definitely alarmed, although not, it seemed, about herself.

“What is going on in this town? I can't believe it. It sounds like some kind of nut is on the loose! Though
why he would be calling me and writing to these POW! people doesn't make any sense. I don't care about the bog.”

She'd put her finger on the main thing that was missing in Faith's logic. The wording of the call and the letter was the same, but the targets were completely dissimilar.