The Body in the Sleigh (18 page)

Faith was glad Earl had told her about the Rohypnol. She hoped Jake knew by now—and everyone else who loved the girl. Norah hadn't known what was going to happen to her. They could take some slight comfort from that. But someone else had known. Someone, or more than one. Faith advanced to the next picture and looked at the snow. There was definitely more than one set of footprints, aside from Faith's. Earl had said they would have been left over from the weekend. Faith tried to remember whether there had been snow the night before she'd found the body. She thought there was a dusting on the deck when she'd looked out that morning. The morning when everything seemed brimming with possibility—Tom's health restored, the kids in fine shape at school and at home, her own mind and body starting to relax from some of the stress that had been so relentless during the fall. But yes, there had been a dusting of snow. She was sure.

Norah wouldn't have left prints, even if she had been wearing both her shoes. Faith found herself wondering what the shoes looked like. “Shoe.” Not “boot.” Tom said they'd found a shoe in Jake's car. This wasn't shoe weather; it was boot weather. This meant Norah hadn't planned to walk far.

The throw had been pulled up close to the girl's chin, but Faith had been able to see that she was wearing a thin silk blouse. Again, not appropriate garb for the time of year, although she had been at a party and must have worn a coat or jacket on top.

There wasn't much in Faith's photos that the police wouldn't have subsequently photographed. Maybe they'd be able to tell how many people had carried her to the sleigh from the shots she, and they, had taken. More than one; no more than three was her guess.

She advanced the camera until she got to the last picture, stared at it, and knew that she'd have to sit a moment before joining the iceboaters. The last shot had been a close-up of the sleigh's contents: a pile of presents gaily wrapped in waterproof oilcloth and tied with plastic ribbons along with the incongruous brown paper bag with what Faith imagined were disposable syringes and other necessities for an addict. The name of a store was stamped on it in red and the bag looked soggy. Proof that it
had
snowed that night, but not much. The sun must have quickly melted what had fallen. Faith recalled that she had noticed the printing on the bag, but what she hadn't taken in earlier was the name, clearly visible on the left side: “Sammy's Twenty-four Hour Store.” Sammy's Twenty-four Hour Store! A duplicate of this bag was wrapped around thousands of dollars and hidden somewhere on Mary Bethany's farm. Faith closed her eyes. The streaks from the dampened ink looked exactly like blood.

 

Daniel Carpenter was not the type of person who gave up easily when it came to getting what he wanted. It was this attitude that had made him the top Realtor in Portland and its surrounding Gold Coast towns. He had a particularly uncanny ability when it came to obtaining new listings. Competitors complained that “Daniel Carpenter knows you're going to sell your house before you do.”

After Miriam called with the news about the baby, he'd immediately sprung into action, first checking the caller ID. When he saw that it read “Private Caller,” he went to his computer and entered her name. Daniel had embraced the new technology years ago. He was the first in the area to have a Web site featuring virtual house tours and he regularly surfed the Web for information about both buyers and sellers, discovering early on that there was little you couldn't find out about someone if you knew where to
look. No phone was listed for Miriam Carpenter anywhere in the state. He checked every Carpenter. No one that could be Miriam. He googled her, looked at public records and credit reports. He expanded the search. As far as the Net was concerned, “Miriam Carpenter” didn't exist.

“Damn,” he'd said to Brenda. “She may be using another name—and she definitely only uses a cell.”

Brenda had nodded. “All the kids do that. None of them has a landline anymore. I doubt she's going by anything but her own name, though. Why would she? We'll have to find her another way, but there's no rush. I'm sure she's staying put wherever she is with the baby. Let's enjoy our Christmas and start looking Wednesday.”

Anxious as she was to get her hands on her new acquisition, Brenda was savoring the moment. Anticipation—just like that ad for ketchup said. She was in a mellow mood, having already ordered an expectant-mother gift basket for herself like the one Charlotte gave Miranda on
Sex and the City.
A minishower. With express shipping it might even arrive before the baby. When Daniel went off to pick up little Daniel, she'd shop some more. It was a shame she didn't have a longer lead time. What she could get online was much better than in the local stores, but it would take a while to get here. Maybe she'd just buy a few things to tide them over while she waited for her orders from Bonpoint, Tiffany, and Saks to arrive. They could start with a cradle or bassinette, which would give them a chance to find the perfect crib. Possibly have one made. The room she now used for wrapping presents would make a perfect nursery. Oh, and she'd have to start looking for a nanny right away. No Swedish girls, though. Daniel was only human.

Wednesday a young couple who had been hesitating between two houses called and told Daniel both sets of parents were in town for the holidays and asked, would he be available to show
them the houses again and perhaps a few more to give their folks an idea of what was out there? Daniel would, and could.

“She said she was going to college, remember?” he told Brenda as he was leaving. “See if you can find an actual person to talk to at UMaine, Bowdoin, Bates, Colby, all of them. You'll think of some story. She was supposed to come home for the holidays and didn't—is she on campus? That sort of thing.”

“But she wouldn't be living on campus if she was having a baby. I know dorms are coed now, but I don't think they let students live there with their children.”

“If we can find out where she's in school—if she still is—we can narrow our search and try the local hospitals. They don't keep you long these days, but she could still be there—or was. I can't get into patient information online, but they'll tell you by phone. Say you want to send flowers, a gift, whatever. You know what to do. With luck she'll have been discharged and we can get an address.”

Brenda did as she was told, but when Daniel came home exhausted at five o'clock and poured himself some Maker's Mark to celebrate the sale, she'd had less luck than he had.

“Poodle, maybe this wasn't meant to be,” he said, settling back in one of the oversize leather chairs in front of the fireplace, which Brenda had turned on. He could never understand why people wanted to bother with the mess real wood made.

The house he'd just sold was on the water and had been listed for four million—a price he knew he'd never get, especially these days. They'd offered a half million less, which was considerably more than the price he'd agreed upon originally with the owners. He'd also told the couple and their parents that they'd have to waive an inspection if they got it at that price. Well, they'd gotten it; so now all they had to do was close. Life was sweet.

Brenda poured herself some crème de menthe. She didn't like “those nasty whiskey drinks,” as she called them.

“You told me you'd do this. You said you'd get the baby for me,” she said evenly.

Daniel recognized the tone. They seldom fought, but when they did, this was always the lead-in. Brenda being reasonable. Brenda speaking in a calm, rational way. Soon Brenda would become Hurricane Brenda and there was no eye in that storm.

He spoke in a placating manner. “But, honey, how can I get the baby if I can't find Miriam?”

“You just don't want a baby. You could do it if you really wanted to. You lied to me.”

The winds were picking up.

“Okay, I'll find her and get the baby. They have to be somewhere and I'm betting she stayed in Maine. Miriam was always a wimpy kind of kid, not the type who would go off to someplace new. I'll spend all day tomorrow on nothing else.”

Brenda drained her Waterford crystal liqueur glass, set it down, and climbed into Daniel's lap.

“I'll still be
your
baby, Daddy. Don't you worry.”

Filled with a sense of purpose and still glowing from his major sale, Daniel started hunting early the next morning. Miriam hadn't had many friends. None, in fact, that he could recall, but it was a shame they'd thrown out her yearbook when they got rid of everything she'd left behind. There was one girl, Sheila something, Miriam used to play with, and maybe they'd stayed in touch. Looking at the yearbook, he could have found her and called her family. How many “Sheilas” could there have been in the class? Now if it had been “Tiffany” or “Jessica” that would have been different.

He sat down to eat the tuna fish sandwich Brenda had made him for lunch. It was his favorite, but today it tasted like sawdust. He was getting annoyed. There was no record of births to anyone named Carpenter in the entire state. Even with the holidays, computers kept the records up-to-date. This meant she hadn't gone to
a hospital or had, despite his conviction, moved away. All he had to go on was the conversation he'd had with her when she'd called to tell him she was continuing her education. He began to think out loud.

“She wouldn't have had the money for any of the private colleges in the state unless she got a scholarship.”

“Well, she's smart, isn't she?”

“I guess. But still, I don't think they hand them out nowadays the way they used to. My gut tells me she's at a UMaine campus. You called all the offices and there were no answers, right?”

“Just a recorded message about being on vacation. I even tried department offices.”

“What we need are the student directories for each of them. The library won't have them, and even if we could get through to the schools, they probably wouldn't give us the information. This society is getting too damn concerned with privacy!”

“Daniel! I know how to get the one for the campus in Orono!” Brenda clapped her hands together. Her rings sparkled.

“How?”

“That's where my friend Leila's daughter goes.”

“But why would Leila have the directory?”

“She's what they call a ‘helicopter parent.' I swear she'd be living in Teri's room if she could. I'm sure she grabbed a copy of the directory, so she could have the numbers of anyone Teri mentioned she was friends with, especially male.”

Daniel was skeptical, but a call to the devoted parent produced the information that, yes, she had a copy of the directory kept with all her other phone books and would be happy to look up Miriam. What a shame they had lost her new address and how nice that they were going up to see her to bring the holiday gifts they couldn't mail. And even more of a shame that the job Miriam had taken to help pay for her own college expenses wouldn't give her enough time off to come home!

Brenda scribbled furiously, talked a bit more about how worrisome young people today were, and hung up. She held out a piece of paper. “We've got her now,” she said triumphantly.

“I'll go first thing in the morning.” Daniel Carpenter poured himself a shot of bourbon.

Piece of cake.

 

“I know you want to help Mary, sweetheart,” Tom said, “but isn't there someone else who could go, or why doesn't she leave the baby here and take our car? That old truck of hers barely makes it to Granville. I thought we could go over to the country club and ski on the golf course.”

The Reverend Fairchild was feeling great. Yesterday's iceboating had stripped the final threads from the cocoon of his illness and he wanted to spread his wings—with his wife for company.

“There isn't anyone else. And unless she's taught one of the herd to drive, Mary won't go any farther than Blue Hill. I just want to get her the bare necessities—more clothes, a proper sling to use when she's milking, diapers, bottles—you remember. The crib we borrowed from Pix for Amy and never gave back is still in the garage here and I want to take that over. I'll have to get some sheets, though. I want to do this for Mary. A belated Christmas present from us.”

“Come here, gift o' mine,” Tom said, reaching for his wife. Outside Ben and Amy were tossing tiny snowballs at each other, scooped up from the fluffy two inches that had fallen early in the morning.

“And do you have to leave right away?” Tom motioned toward the ceiling. “I thought this might be the perfect occasion for some quality adult time upstairs.”

Faith hugged him hard. “What's that line about having ‘world
enough and time'? I know Marvell was addressing his Coy Mistress and I'm not being coy. There will be time—many times.”

Tom kissed her, and in a voice suggesting slight regret, but hope for a Plan B, said, “Hey, why don't we all go? Maybe see a movie in Ellsworth?”

Faith had been deliberately vague about where she was going. Orono was in a different direction from Ellsworth. She was feeling slightly guilty at keeping so much from Tom. It wasn't what they did—wasn't what their marriage was about. But she didn't want to upset him when he was coming along so well—or so she rationalized. Still, it was true. He would be upset—the last thing she wanted, especially now. She felt an almost painful surge of love for him, the kind of feeling you don't have until you're faced with an illness, or worse.

“You know you would hate it, and so would the kids. The after-Christmas sales bring out the beast in everyone and the stores will be packed.” L.L.Bean online was as close as Tom normally liked to get to retail. Faith had often thought his choice of profession might have been dictated in part by the simple nature of wardrobe choices—and the robe also covered a multiple of fashion sins.