The Body in the Ivy (29 page)

“I have some Tylenol in the kitchen,” she said. “Extra Strength.”

Elaine sat down again. “Good, then I won't need to get mine.”

Faith brought the container and a glass of water. Tap water. If her employer wanted something else, she'd have
to ask for it. She didn't, but swallowed the pill, leaned gracefully back in the chair, and closed her eyes.

“I guess we know who won't be doing the first shift,” Phoebe said.

Elaine opened one eye. “Don't be so sure of that.”

At ten o'clock, Phoebe and Lucy assumed the positions that Maggie had determined would be best for surveillance at either end of the room. Faith had cleared away the food and cleaned up the kitchen. She brought several insulated carafes of coffee back, along with some fruit, crackers, cheese, and cookies. Then she searched the shelves for something to read herself. She wasn't sleepy, just deadly tired. Earlier in the kitchen, before locking the door, she had stepped outside and been heartened by a small, clear patch studded with several bright stars in the night sky. Somewhere Tom, Ben, and Amy were slumbering under the same sky, or in Tom's case, perhaps gazing up into it. She wrapped her arms tightly around her own body, imagining that she was encircling those three, as well, and felt the strength of their love for each other. It would see her through this night, just as it had so many nights before.

Faith had chosen the last shift, planning to raise the flag as soon as there was a glimmer of daylight. But that was still many hours away.

“How can we get any sleep with all these lights on?” Maggie asked. “Surely we can turn some off, or at least dim them.”

“No way,” Phoebe said. “Tie something around your eyes. Mrs. Fairchild can get you a dish towel or something.”

“We can turn a few out, Phoebe. Not many. Maggie's right,” Lucy said.

A compromise was reached as Phoebe accompanied Lucy and Maggie to each fixture. Elaine was either asleep or providing a good imitation. She hadn't moved since Faith had given her the Tylenol.

With the room in semidarkness, Faith gave up her attempts to read
Pride and Prejudice,
a choice that had seemed inspired earlier. Jane Austen was her refuge in a storm—flu, insomnia, hospital waiting rooms.

At one o'clock, the shift changed. Maggie shook Elaine awake and asked Faith to give them both some coffee. Only Faith was allowed to dispense the liquid. Phoebe took Elaine's chair by the fire and Lucy stretched out on a long sofa that faced out toward the porch—as far away as she could get from all of them.

Faith had set her watch to go off at 3:30, even though her shift didn't officially begin until 4:00. She wanted to watch the watchers, just as she had kept an eye on Phoebe and Lucy until midnight before succumbing, allowing her eyes to close. Before that, neither woman had moved from her post, nor taken her eyes off the room's occupants. Now, awakened by the changing of the guard, Faith knew she had to get back to sleep, fitful though it would be. She had to be alert for her own watch and all this day might bring.

 

At 3:30, everything was as it had been earlier, except Phoebe was sound asleep, her breath making little whistling noises. The fire had almost gone out and Faith debated whether to keep it going or not. They would be
leaving the island in a few hours—her desperate hope—better to let it die down.

She had stretched out on one of the sofas next to the kitchen door and could see the whole room. Except for Phoebe, there was total silence. No crackling fire, no whispered conversation. Nothing. Outside, the winds had stilled. The storm was over. It was too early for the birds, the chatter that she normally cursed for rousing her. Quiet. Total quiet. It was unnatural—and terrifying. She sat up and stretched.

“I'm awake,” she whispered to Maggie. “I might as well take over now and you can get some sleep.” Maggie nodded and relinquished her chair, trading it for the sofa Faith had occupied.

Faith went over to Elaine and said the same thing.

“I'm fine where I am, but thank you.”

She looked like something carved from white jade, her exquisite features enhanced by the low light. She was wearing another caftan, a pale sage or, Faith thought, the color of tender celery.

Walking back to the opposite end of the room, Faith looked over the top of the high sofa where Lucy was sleeping, and before she could stop herself, gasped.

Lucy was gone.

“What is it?” Maggie's voice sounded as if she were speaking into a microphone, and everyone sat up.

“Lucy's not here. Perhaps she had to go to the bathroom?” There was a half bath off the living room, and a quick check revealed it was empty.

“Maggie, Elaine, you were on duty! You didn't see her go?” Phoebe was close to hysteria and Faith reached into her pocket for the paper bag she was glad
she'd had the foresight to transfer when she'd changed clothes.

Elaine shook her head slowly. “No,” Maggie said. “I didn't see or hear a thing.”

It would have been easy to do, and a good plan, Faith thought. The sofa Lucy had chosen had a high back. Easy enough to slip onto the floor and roll toward the front door. Like everything in this exquisitely appointed house, the hinges were oiled and noiseless. Lucy would have been out in less than a minute. But why? What had she seen? What did she know?

“It's the two of you! You killed her in her sleep. While Faith and I were sleeping! And we're next!” Phoebe grabbed the bathrobe she'd been using as a blanket and dashed through the door into the kitchen. There was a crash. Faith went after her in time to watch her disappear out the back door into the darkness. What was left of the Pelham Fudge Cake was on the floor.

Back in the living room someone had turned on more lights.

“There doesn't seem to be much point to this anymore. I'm going to bed. My own bed,” Elaine said, and disappeared up her private staircase, closing the door firmly behind her. Faith heard the one at the top close, then Maggie said, “I'm going to my room, as well. What are you going to do?”

“It won't be long until it's light. I'll stay here.”

Maggie shrugged. “Please yourself, but I think you'd be more comfortable upstairs.”

The woman was definitely a manager.

“I'll think about it,” Faith said, determined not to be managed.

At 4:30, Faith walked out onto the porch. The sky was definitely getting lighter along the horizon. Through the early morning mist the sea was calm. She opened the door and sat down on the steps, filled with relief. It was almost over. She'd raise the flag and go find Chris first, then the others. If the island wasn't so far out, she would already be able to hear the fishermen's engines putt-putting from trap to trap. It might be several hours before they got this far, or they might start out here, working their way back. Whichever it was, she'd be ready. Everything was packed, even her kitchen equipment, and stood waiting by the door.

Someone was coming onto the porch behind her. It was Elaine Prince. She looked exhausted and had exchanged her flowing caftan for jeans and a sweatshirt. Her hair was pulled back and she looked her age, looked, Faith thought, like herself and not her sister.

“I hoped you would be able to figure it out. That's why I asked you to come. I'd heard from friends in New York about what you did for Emma Stanstead, found out who really murdered her father—and how discreet you had been. Someone else would have run straight to the tabloids.”

Faith shuddered at the thought. As if.

Elaine continued. “I knew what Prin was like. Always had. At best you could say that she was easily bored, that she had to constantly create excitement for herself. At worst, well, she was amoral, treating human beings without any sense of decency or regard for right or wrong.

“I suppose we had a love/hate relationship. But she was my sister, and all these years I knew I'd have to
find out what happened that night. Find out who killed her. Prin would never have killed herself.”

“Why did you wait so long?” Faith asked, watching the dawn come up, a haze of pink and yellow.

“My parents either believed or were determined to believe that Prin's death was an accident. I couldn't do anything while they were still alive. My father died a year after Prin. He worshiped her. ‘Prin' wasn't short for our last name, but his nickname for her, ‘Princess.' He had a massive heart attack. A broken heart. Mother lived on alone, mostly in France. I think she was proud of me, but she didn't consider what I write ‘real books.' She died last year and I was free—free to track down my sister's killer.”

“Do you honestly believe that each of the women you invited here could have been guilty of such a crime?” Faith was incredulous.

“After what I've heard about the things you've seen over the years, haven't you come to believe that, given certain circumstances, anyone could commit murder? In the case of these women, some more likely than others, but each could have been driven to it by my sister.”

Faith remembered what Chris had just said about the intensity of adolescent, late-adolescent, emotion—emotion that would cloud normal judgment and seem to justify even murder.

“I know about Rachel's brother, and Chris has told me about what happened to her during senior year.”

“The abortion. You see, my sister told me everything. It was a kind of test. Would I still love her despite what she had done? And kept on doing. She was
very beautiful, as you've heard, but she also had an insatiable need to have that beauty recognized. She used it as a reward—and a weapon. One summer she carried on a torrid affair with Lucy's father and made sure Lucy found out. Then she stole Gwen's boyfriend. I'll admit that doesn't sound like much, but Gwen was totally besotted with him, and when you're that age, things seem more important than they do looking back.”

“And Bobbi Dolan?”

“Bobbi was a thief, or rather she had a problem. She'd be treated by a psychiatrist now. Things disappeared from our rooms freshman year. Prin made her sign a confession.”

“Blackmail?”

Elaine nodded. “But not for anything specific, just for the fun of watching Bobbi squirm. Prin couldn't stand what she called ‘tacky people' and Bobbi fell into that category, a nonperson category. Then there was Phoebe. Prin lied to her about the severity of a car accident they'd been involved in. Phoebe was driving and kept going. Prin made her stop and went back. She told Phoebe she'd killed a dog. Of course she hadn't, but Prin got her senior thesis done.”

Faith was reeling. Hélène Prince had been a monster. Not simply totally amoral, but evil.

“Which leaves Maggie.”

“Yes, our president. Pills. Prin got her hooked on uppers and downers. Maggie was never a scholar and what with running everything on campus she needed some study aids.”

“And everything came to a head at graduation?”

“I've never known what Prin planned to do exactly, but I imagine she was going to hand over any incriminating documents to the college, then sit back and watch various members of the group topple over like tenpins.”

“You've figured out who killed your sister, haven't you?”

“Yes, and I imagine you have, too.”

“I should have figured it out sooner. It might have saved three lives.”

“But then you didn't know why I'd asked you here.”

“No.”

Elaine sighed heavily. “It's on my conscience. Especially Brent. I
should
have sent him away. I imagine he must have seen her kill Bobbi or come along just afterward.”

“More likely that. There were traces of dirt from the garden on the tiles. He probably thought she could be saved and was struck from behind, much the way she must have been.”

“And Gwen. She beat us to it and died because of it.”

“I hope you realize, Mrs. Fairchild, that Elaine is crazy.” Maggie's voice startled Faith. She had been so intent on what Elaine was saying that she hadn't heard Maggie come across the porch to the top of the stairs.

“She's been telling you fairy tales. Grim fairy tales.” She smiled at her joke. “The only person in our group who wanted Prin dead was Elaine. I don't claim to be a psychologist, but I've been around young women long enough to be an acute observer of their particular style of human behavior.”

She sounded as if she was lecturing.

“Elaine hated her sister from the moment her father's obvious preference became known to her. She slipped into the world in her sister's shadow and remained there biding her time. Do you think our famous author would be where she is now if her sister were alive? It would have been Prin in the limelight. Now why don't you gather all the others from their little hidey-holes and I'll raise the flag.”

Faith looked at Elaine and they both stood up, backing down the stairs to stand on solid ground.

“No,” Faith said. “It was you, not Elaine. You were the one who tipped over those vases with the roses. You were the one who
had
to kill. There's only one person here who had everything to lose—power, position, prestige, and Pelham—yourself. And only one person with everything to lose all those years ago. The same person. You.”

Margaret Howard's face flushed angrily. “What do you mean, ‘tipped over vases'? The ones with the roses. What vases? I don't recall any. The whole house is filled with flowers. Are you insane! Do you know to whom you're talking? I can sue you for an accusation like this. My husband is a very important lawyer in Washington. How dare you—”

“She's right, Maggie,” Elaine said softly. “What was Prin going to do? She must have had some proof of your addiction. Was she going to present it to the dean or the president? Keep you from speaking at graduation? Keep you from graduating at all? You'd never be able to be Pelham's president after that, and we all knew that was your goal, your obsession. But poor Bobbi—and Brent Justice, you didn't even know him! And Gwen!”