The Body in the Sleigh (13 page)

Murder! What had changed their minds? How had they known to search Jake's car?

Murder. On some level, she'd thought it all along—and she did not flatter herself that she was any smarter than the police. What didn't fit with an overdose? What had made her instantly suspicious? Suddenly she was so tired, all she could think of was stretching out.

“Ben, I'm going to lie down for a little while. Let me know when your sister comes home and I'll make supper.”

“Sure.” He looked up at her in the doorway. “Are you okay, Mom?”

Faith forced a big smile and reassured her son, “I'm fine. Just need a nap.”

He looked skeptical. “You never take naps. Must be the holidays.”

At that she had to smile for real. Was Ben watching Oprah? Or maybe they actually weren't doing too bad a job of raising him.

Ben was right about the nap part too. She didn't take naps. Yet. And sleep wouldn't come. Instead she turned her thoughts to Christopher and Mary. Having eliminated all the other possibilities—especially the poor Wellesley girl who was probably wishing that she'd never heard the words “tonsils and adenoids”—Miriam Singer with her long dark hair was number one. Faith had planned to go up to Orono and check out the twenty-four-hour store with the hope of finding Miriam, but doubted she'd be able to get away tomorrow. She rubbed her eyes, as if that would erase all her troubling thoughts.

One of Norah Taft's shoes in Jake's car? If he had had something to do with her death, he certainly wouldn't have left a piece of evidence like her shoe in plain sight. Except it must not have been in plain sight. He would have noticed it, or someone he'd given a lift would have.

Today was Wednesday. Exactly one week ago, Faith had discovered the body in the sleigh. Only one week. But in that week, surely Jake had given rides to friends, or if not, would have seen
the shoe himself. Was it placed in his car more recently? The coroner put Norah's time of death in the early morning hours. It had been a school night; Jake would have been sound asleep in his own wee bed. Not driving around.

Some teenage boys' cars resembled a mound with layers chockfull of artifacts from which future archaeologists could construct a picture of life on earth for a sixteen-year-old in the early twenty-first century—empty soda cans, fast-food wrappers, half-eaten beef jerky sticks, WD-40, forgotten outerwear, single gloves, and an illicit beer can or two. But Jake's car was his pride and joy. She doubted he would let his friends use the backseat as a Dumpster, burying the shoe out of sight.

Faith wished Tom would call. She was tempted to call him, but knew she shouldn't. Nan was the obvious source of information, but she was still in Ellsworth. Which left Faith where? Waiting for the other shoe to drop. She sat up and got out of bed. Time to do some cooking and put on some music—Motown, something with a beat. Anything to take her mind off what was or wasn't happening in Ellsworth.

 

Tom called at 7
P.M.
to say that he and Freeman would be leaving soon. Sam Miller had reached him on his cell and given him the name of a lawyer. She'd come right away and was with Jake now. Art had appeared shortly after they'd arrived and told his son in no uncertain terms that he didn't care what he wanted, that he loved him and he wasn't going to sit down on the island twiddling his thumbs while he was in this mess. Jake hadn't said anything, but didn't tell him to leave. Faith had a million questions, but they had to keep—all except one.

“How did the police know to search his car?”

“An anonymous tip. They traced it to a phone outside a gas station in Belfast. Could have been anyone.”

But it had to be someone who knew more than they did, Faith thought as she reluctantly hung up the phone.

Amy was home and she and Ben were eating some of the lasagna Faith had made, one of three pans. Now that she'd heard from Tom, she'd run one pan over to Debbie and another to Nan. Ben could look after Amy for the short time she'd be gone. Debbie wouldn't feel like cooking, or eating, but there was the rest of the family—except for Jake and Art. Nan would have plenty of Christmas dinner leftovers, but they'd look too festive. The memory of all of them sitting around the table so happily was too fresh. No, lasagna was the food of choice in times of trouble.

An anonymous tip. Jake had turned seventeen this fall. How could someone his age have an enemy? Or enemies? The shoe had to have been planted. It wasn't just that he was the Marshalls' grandson. Faith prided herself on her ability to judge human nature and her snap judgments were more often right than wrong. From the moment she'd met Jake, many years ago, she had liked him. He'd always been kind to her kids, tolerating Ben's hero worship. She didn't know him well, but she knew enough to believe that whatever had happened to Norah Taft didn't have anything to do with Jake.

By the time she'd returned from delivering the food, she wasn't so sure.

Debbie's sister-in-law had thanked her for the casserole, but hadn't invited her in, nor had Faith taken a step inside. She could hear sobs and a soft voice. Debbie was obviously upset and being comforted by another relative. At Nan's, her daughter-in-law from North Carolina led Faith into the kitchen straightaway.

“She'll want to see you.”

Nan wasn't crying. She looked angry, and when she saw Faith, she hugged her hard. “Thank the Lord, Tom is with them. Freeman says Jake's talked to him, but nobody else until the lawyer
came. It
has
to be a mistake. All of this. The shoe could have been under the seat for years. From when they were together.”

“Together?”

Nan nodded. “Jake has always been crazy for Norah. Since they were both barely out of the cradle, he only wanted to be with her and she with him. Until she came back to the island, that is. Then she broke his heart.”

“Now, Mumma, we don't know what went on. Could be that Jake wasn't interested in her anymore. Not after she changed so much.” Mark put an arm around his mother's shoulders and led her to a well-worn couch next to the woodstove.

“Debbie's been worried about Jake for a long time,” Nan's daughter Connie said. “When I was here at Thanksgiving she told me he was moving heaven and earth trying to find where Norah'd gone. He wanted to have it out with her once and for all. That's what he said.”

Nan flared up. “Now, don't you repeat that to another living soul! Things are bad enough. Kids say all sorts of things when they're upset and we know he was upset at the way she'd changed. We all were.”

Connie opened her mouth to say something more, then closed it in response to a look from her brother.

“Don't worry. Nobody's going to be talking about any of this.”

Or talking about the impossibility of Norah's shoe being left in Jake's car for a long time. He'd only had his license for about a year and bought the car last summer from someone in Sedgwick after seeing the ad in
Uncle Henry's Swap or Sell It Guide
—the bible for every male over the age of eight in the state of Maine and far beyond its borders. Both Tom and Sam Miller had subscriptions, and when it arrived each week, Tom would start fantasizing about driving to Lubec to pick up a dirt-cheap rototiller or Sebago for an outboard that needed only a few parts and some TLC.

It was time to leave. Faith told them to call if they needed
anything and promised to take Amy's new friend, the granddaughter from the South, the following day. She offered to have her stay overnight immediately, but her mother said she was half asleep in front of the TV and didn't know what was going on. She would be grateful if Faith would take her tomorrow, though.

“Who knows what's going to happen?”

Her words echoed in Faith's mind as she cleaned up the kitchen after returning home. The kids were watching a DVD. Amy's lids were drooping and she was soon fast asleep in front of the adventures of the Avatar, Ben's new favorite. Faith settled down next to Ben and pulled Amy onto her lap. Her daughter was still small enough to curl up there. The lingering smell of egg rolls, popcorn, and Johnson's baby shampoo from the bath Amy had taken that morning was very comforting. While the Avatar battled the Fire Nation, Faith wondered what demons Norah had been battling. What had caused her to change so drastically, always a sign of trouble, as well as a call for help, in teens? And Jake. He was searching for Norah and wanted to “have it out with her once and for all.” Did he find her—and what form did “once and for all” take? A rejected lover, one who had loved for a lifetime. Nan was clinging to the belief that the shoe was an old one and could have been in Jake's car for many months, but, aside from the other issues such as a license and Norah's taking off before he'd bought the car, Faith was sure the police would not have pulled him in if the shoe hadn't matched the one left on her other foot, or found in the sleigh if it too had slipped off. Yet, if she were Nan, she'd be grasping for any straws that came her way—and at the moment this seemed to be the only one.

“Another episode, Mom?” Ben's eyes were bright. Aang, the Avatar, traveled the globe on a giant, flying Sky Bison named Appa. A handy thing to have at one's disposal. The mission was to defeat the forces of evil without bloodshed and bring peace to every continent. A tall order, but the Avatar was doing a good job.

“Sure. Yip, yip,” Faith said. “Yip, yip” was the command that made the bison take to the skies.

“Yip, yip,” she said again softly to herself and wished Tom were home.

 

“Daniel, this is our chance! You've always said you didn't want to adopt, because it wouldn't really be your baby. Well, this is your own grandson—he has
your
genes—and what will happen to him if he's left with Miriam? She's probably somewhere in some kind of hippie commune.” Brenda started to raise the notion of drugs, but stopped short. She didn't want Daniel to think the baby might have something wrong with him. That Miriam had been doing drugs during the pregnancy.

The moment Daniel had put down the phone, Brenda had started in, climbing into his lap and begging him to get this baby for her. Her eyes had filled with tears with very little effort.

“It's the only thing we don't have. Look at this big house! We always said we wanted a baby and I know it's my fault, not yours. There's nothing wrong with your swimmers.”

As soon as Daniel had put a ring on her finger, Brenda had gone off the pill. She figured, when it happened it would happen, and she'd tell him then. Only it didn't happen, and after several years, she raised the issue, only to find that her husband was very happy with the way things were and didn't want another child. He was, in fact, counting the days until he could get Miriam off his hands. But gradually Brenda convinced him that their child would be different—always a boy in both their minds. Someone to carry on the Carpenter name and give them something to boast about—my son the athlete, smart but not a nerd, handsome, of course. She went through the charade of “trying” for a few months and then went to see a specialist. She knew Daniel would never get checked, and besides, he'd proved his virility. The news was not
good—and definitive. The drug, DES, that Brenda's mother had taken to prevent a miscarriage had effectively made Brenda herself sterile. The doctor suggested adoption. “Many of my patients have been successful in adopting from overseas.”

Brenda had left in a huff. As if she'd raise some foreign child. No, they'd find a healthy white American infant somehow. Except Daniel put his foot down on this one. She could have a dog, even two, but he wasn't bringing bad blood into his house. She knew he'd never change his mind and contented herself with as many material possessions as she could amass. They had been a fine substitute until she'd heard him on the phone just now.

“We're too old, Brenda. At our age we should be having grandchildren.”

“I'm only in my thirties. Plenty of women my age are having babies. And you're in your forties, the prime of life. Think of all those men who have babies in their sixties—all those stars. Michael Douglas. Fred Thompson. They're way older than you. And Chris Noth, that guy you like on
Law & Order.
He's in his fifties.” Brenda had subscriptions to both
Entertainment
and
People.
“And”—she lowered her voice reverentially—“what about Donald Trump?”

In addition to “The Donald,” Daniel's Realtor role model, she'd found the right words, “prime of life.” Daniel suddenly saw himself taking his son down the ski slopes at Sunday River and heading into Portland to catch a Sea Dogs game. Brenda could be president of the PTA. The whole thing would be good for business. He could never even get Rebekah to go to a parents' night, let alone pass the word around the neighborhood about her husband the savvy Realtor. Brenda would be totally different. Maybe a den mother too. And then there was old age to think of. Miriam would never take care of them. He wouldn't want her to, but his son and the woman he'd marry would. Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Carpenter Junior. Plus, Brenda wouldn't get those disgusting stretch
marks and sagging breasts like Rebekah had. After Miriam was born, making love to his wife—who'd insisted on breast-feeding, which only made things worse—was like making love to a lump of dough.

“Okay, we'll do it,” he said. They'd spent less time on this decision than on selecting the color for the exterior of the house. It had been an agonizing choice between Silver Screen and Dappled Sunlight. Brenda had had the painters do a sample of each before going for Silver Screen. She liked the name better.

“Oh, Daddy, you're wonderful!” Brenda kissed him hard and, when she came up for air, asked, “But how?”

“You leave it to me,” Daniel said.

 

Freeman dropped Tom off just after nine. Faith had helped a drowsy Amy to bed and left Ben watching more Avatar episodes. He was now sound asleep in front of the TV and she left him there while she heated up some of the lasagna for Tom—she'd made the one for her family with spinach, mushrooms, and a low-fat ricotta.