The Body in the Snowdrift (23 page)

Reverend Fairchild was looking very, very tired. His morning had started at dawn and it had been difficult—first, confronting the sight on the snow-covered slopes, then keeping people away and dealing with the subsequent shock, which had spread through the resort like an avalanche.

“Are you telling them this is impossible? Eduardo can't have had anything to do with this! Does he need a lawyer? Has he spoken to—”

Tom put his arms around his wife and drew her to one side. “It's okay, honey. Eduardo's rights are being fully respected. No one knows what's going on yet. And a lawyer is on the way, although it's early days and he may not need one. I called Sharon for a name.” Sharon McKay was a former parishioner, now teaching at UVM, someone both Fairchilds liked and respected. It wasn't Kevin Bacon, but the ecclesiastical net worked in much the same way.

Faith looked at Eduardo over Tom's shoulder. The boy seemed younger than his years and very frightened. She went over to him.

“My husband will take care of you. You mustn't worry. Do you want to call your parents or someone else at home?”

“Oh no, señora,” Eduardo said softly, as if afraid to raise his voice and be noticed. “They would be very upset, and there is nothing they can do from so far away.”

“But what's going on? Why are you keeping him here?” Faith addressed the lieutenant.

“We only want to ask the boy a few more questions, and it's in his best interest to stay where we can keep an eye on him.”

“You mean you think he'll try to escape?” Faith was indignant.

“We're not thinking anything, ma'am,” he replied patiently. “We just need him to stay put here, where we can find him.”

“Tom!” Faith turned toward her husband, and they stepped over to a corner of the office.

“It's what's best for Eduardo right now—and I'll be here with him. Why don't you go back to the kids? I'm afraid we're not going to be able to leave today. Craig and my dad are with the Staffords. Robert and Dennis are helping out at the lodge.”

Accounting for the rest of the family, Faith said, “The kids are with your mother and Betsey in Waterbury. They left after breakfast.”

“Good. Now why don't you go back to the condo? I can reach you there if I need you or if Eduardo does. I promise. Get some rest, if you can. The police are doing a great job, Faith.”

“Do they know about all the other things that have been happening this week?”

“Yes, and none of it makes any sense.”

“Okay, I'll go as soon as I've talked to Juana, Vincente, and any of the others who are around,” she said, then addressed the room. “Do you want some coffee, something to eat?”

“We're being well looked after,” the lieutenant said. “I appreciate your concern for the young man here, and I'm sure he does, too. Thank you for coming in.”

Faith had been with enough cops to recognize an exit line—her exit—and she left, but not without pulling Tom away to tell him what had just occurred to her.

“Eduardo wouldn't have known anything about how the snow guns work or even about the water source or where it is. You've got to let the police know that,” she whispered quickly in his ear.

He whispered back, “Thought of that myself right away, but we have a little problem. Besides working in the kitchen, Eduardo's been on the maintenance crew. Turns out that he's some sort of mechanical genius.”

Faith's sudden hopes crashed. “Call me when the lawyer comes. And don't leave him alone.”

Tom nodded and ever so gently pushed his wife toward the door.

Alessandro had returned with the chili, which she was busy adding to what little remained. Juana and Sally were at the counter, serving.

“Would it be all right if I spoke with Juana for a minute? Can you spare her?” Faith asked Sally.

“Of course, Mrs. Fairchild,” she said, then she beckoned Faith closer.

“It's like a nightmare, only I can't wake up. Josh says he feels the same way. I mean, on Saturday I thought I'd found a body, and now there
is
a body. Well not actually—”

“It
is
like a nightmare, but I'm sure the police will find whoever is responsible.” Faith didn't mention the money. She didn't know whether it was common knowledge or not, although it was bound to be soon. She also didn't know whether the police would find out who was responsible. There was that Canadian border to think about, so conveniently close by.

“You don't think it's like a serial killer, some maniac, do you? That's what people are saying. One man was shouting at the police that he wasn't going to have his family spread out all over the mountain and that if they didn't let him leave, he was going to sue the whole state of Vermont.”

“I'm sure it's not a serial killer.” Faith wasn't going to weigh in on the maniac part. “It would be hard to repeat this kind of thing over and over.”

Sally nodded, apparently reassured. “We're all set here. I know you're close to these kids and that they're really upset, so take your time.”

Faith and Juana went into the ladies' locker room. It was deserted. They sat down on one of the benches.

“Señora, Eduardo would never kill anyone! What are they doing to him?”

“They are asking him some questions. My husband—you remember him; he was in the kitchen the other night with my children—is with Eduardo. He won't leave him alone.”

“Yes, the priest, or whatever the word is. I can't remember my English good now.”

“You're doing fine. Can you tell me why they are asking Eduardo questions? Why they think he may have had something to do with this?”

Juana burst into tears, grabbing a towel to mop her eyes.

“It's all because of me!”

“You? But how?” Faith asked.

“John was very friendly with all of us, but he was my special friend. Not like that,” she said, looking a Faith's face. “Not a boyfriend. But he was teaching me some songs and also how to work in a restaurant. He said I was so good at plating that I could get a job here in the States. Saturday night, after the restaurant closed, we were in the kitchen alone together. Eduardo came in, and he thought…well, he thought something wrong was happening. He is very jealous.”

Faith looked at Juana. Even with puffy red eyes, the girl was beautiful. Her cocoa-colored skin was smooth and unblemished. Unlike the other girls' long dark hair, which was straight, Juana's fell in waves. Her eyes were dark, too, but flecked with gold. She had reminded Faith of those very special French Bernachon chocolates called
palets d'or,
gold coins. The bonbons were round disks of bittersweet chocolate embedded with tiny pieces of gold leaf. It wouldn't be hard to be completely besotted with the young woman, whatever your age. Clearly, Eduardo was. Had John been, as well?

“Please, you must believe me. I didn't do anything wrong.”

Faith put her arm around the Juana's shoulder. “I'm sure you didn't. But is this why the police are questioning Eduardo? He and John had a fight?”

Juana nodded, tears starting again. “Eduardo was shouting in Spanish. He was so angry. I was trying to tell him that nothing was wrong, but he wouldn't listen. John thought it was a joke, and then he thought it wasn't. He grabbed Eduardo by the arm to make him be quiet, but it made him worse. He was hitting John and John was hitting him back. I was screaming. People came and made them stop.”

“Who came?”

“I don't remember everyone. Alessandro took me away. Tomás was there. Probably Vincente. The next day, when John wasn't there, Eduardo was telling everyone it was because John was afraid to face him. You know, machismo.”

Faith did know. All too well.

“So all this week, you thought John had left to find another job because of you?”

Juana shrugged. “These things happen.”

And for someone as beautiful as this Bolivian, these things must happen often, Faith thought.

“Will Eduardo be all right? Will they put him in prison?” Juana asked anxiously.

“He will be all right,” Faith said, wishing she could state it with total confidence. Machismo engendered very powerful emotions.

Faith went back with Juana to the Sports Bar. Sally had left. Vincente, Tiny, and Alessandro were sitting on three bar stools. The crowd in the Sports Center had thinned considerably.

“You know the story from Juana now?” Vincente asked. “It is an unlucky thing for Eduardo that this happened.”

Very, Faith said to herself. The timing was perfect—for someone.

She realized she was exhausted. After talking a little longer with the students, she gave them the phone number of the condo and wearily made her way back up the long drive.

No one was at either condo. She knew she should go get Scott from Gertrude's, but she had to lie down first. She wasn't sure she had the energy to walk all that way. She certainly didn't have the emotional energy for a scene if Scott refused to come back with her.

The sight of the kitchen triggered an onslaught of hunger pangs. She hadn't eaten anything all day. Hadn't had the stomach for anything. Now she was ravenous. She opened the fridge and, avoiding the sight of
Betsey's leftover lasagna, took out some of the sliced smoked ham from Harrington's—a store in Richmond, just down the road—Havarti, honey mustard, and arugula for some crunch. There was still some rye left from the loaf she'd brought. Should I bother to do a kind of panini and fry it? she wondered. Yes, she decided. She needed the smell of food cooking, the sight of butter melting, bread turning a crispy brown, melted cheese oozing. The arugula could go on the side.

Mission accomplished, she was sitting at the counter, about to eat, when the back door opened and Dennis walked in.

Dennis.

She got another plate and put half the sandwich on it.

“Dennis,” she said, “we have to talk.”

“God, that looks good. I grabbed some doughnuts and coffee from the cafeteria I can't even remember when this morning. What a day.” Dennis took off his jacket, sat down, and picked up the sandwich, seemingly oblivious to his understatement.

“I haven't really taken it all in,” Faith said, realizing as she spoke how true her words were. She hadn't planned a way to start her conversation with Dennis, hadn't been sure she'd get a chance to have it, and this was the first thing that came to mind.

“I know. Horrible. You read about stuff like this in the paper, but you never think you'll be involved.”

How involved, Dennis? Faith almost blurted out.

He kept talking. “And the kids. I want to get the hell out of here. I know Betsey and Marian took everybody off, which was a good idea, but now it's time to pack.
I'm worried about how Scott and Andy are taking it. They knew John, hung around the kitchen a lot, especially when they were younger.”

He'd devoured his half of the sandwich and was eying Faith's. She didn't slide it over.

“How well did
you
know John?” she asked, and took a bite.

Her brother-in-law stiffened. “What do you mean?”

She put the sandwich down. “Just that it must be hard on you. You've been coming here all these years, and you knew him, too.”

“Yeah, well, we weren't buddies. I'd talk to him about the menu. Gave him a few ideas now and then.”

Dennis, unlike his wife, was a foodie and occasionally knew about a new gem in Boston's increasingly dazzling restaurant scene before Faith herself. Could he have had a rendezvous with John at the motel café to discuss whether to offer skate wings, say, or Kobe beef? Faith doubted it, but it was the opening she needed.

“You didn't happen to get together at the motel café in Williston on Saturday to discuss haute cuisine, did you?”

Dennis stood up, knocking the stool over. He was flushed, and he angrily grabbed the counter with both hands. His hands were exquisitely cared for—no one wants a dentist with ragged cuticles. They were also large. Faith had the sense that he'd reached for the counter to keep from reaching for her. They were alone in the condo. No one could hear them. She'd have to watch her step. Dennis was a relative only by marriage,
and in any case, Faith had never relied on blood being thicker than water.

“We saw your car, Dennis,” she said softly, emphasizing the “we.” “Tom and I were coming back from Burlington. It's where they found John's car today. I saw it on the news.”

“And Tom knows that, too?” Dennis appeared to be considering some options. Faith was sure she wouldn't like some of them, and she answered firmly, “Tom knows.” He would know soon, which was as good as knowing now. And there was this situation: She was alone with a man who had just learned that something he'd thought he'd hidden wasn't hidden at all.

Dennis picked the stool up and sat down. He didn't look at her. The minutes passed. Faith finished her sandwich.

“Have you told the police?”

“I haven't; I don't know whether—”

“Tom wouldn't. Not without talking to me first.” Dennis sounded relieved.

“Why don't you just tell me what's going on? I'll make you another sandwich,” Faith said.

He shook his head. She wasn't sure if it meant he didn't want anything to eat or he wasn't going to tell her anything. She waited some more. He looked miserable. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, “Come sit on the couch. These stools are damned uncomfortable.”

They sat down, and Faith prepared herself for another long wait. Even at the best of times, Dennis wasn't much of a talker—at least not when the family
was around—and this wasn't the best of times. But he started right in.

“Sometimes you get sucked into things and don't know how it happened. Like marrying Betsey.” He shot a glance at Faith, whose face wasn't registering disapproval or much of anything else. It was his story.

“Don't get me wrong. I was all for it. She was beautiful, smart, and loaded with energy. Everything she said about the future came true. We'd have plenty of money. I'd be a big success. Great kids. But I remember standing at the altar and thinking, Jeezus, how did I get here so fast? That's the thing about Betsey. Everything has to happen right away and exactly the way she wants it. She's not easy to live with—and it's getting worse as the kids get older.

“Maybe she's worried about the empty-nest thing. Maybe she thinks she might have a completely empty house. And maybe she will. I can't see myself sticking with her once the kids are gone if things don't change.”

Not a good week for the Fairchild family's marriages, Faith thought wryly. But then, Dennis and Betsey's problems went way back. As soon as Dennis had started talking, she'd realized where he was going.

He picked up one of the throw pillows and started fiddling with the fringe. “I did a very stupid thing. I've been having an affair with my secretary.”

Faith was right. That old sweet song. That cliché come to life over and over and over again.

“That's what I meant about getting sucked in. I got sucked in, more like suckered in.”

“So, you were meeting
her
at the motel, not John?”

“Yeah. I knew about it from John, though. He used to go there, knew the owners. Said they were discreet.”

“But why did she come all the way up here?”

Maybe Dennis was hotter than he looked. Maybe his lover couldn't go a whole week without him.

“I didn't want her here. Didn't want her anywhere. It was a fling. I told her that at the beginning. I wasn't about to leave my wife.”

Not yet, Faith amended silently.

“Sandy was okay with that at first, or at least that's what she said. Then she began to drop these hints. Said I should take her with me to one of my professional conventions, or Betsey might get a phone call. So, like a fool, I did. The meeting was in Saint Thomas. Nobody I knew was going to be there, but I was nervous as a cat the whole time. Then she wanted money for clothes, more to fix up her apartment. It was getting to be a nightmare, so I broke it off and told her she should start looking for another job. Major mistake.”

How could the man have been so dense? Didn't he read the papers? Sexual harassment, duh! Faith thought.

“I told her I would straighten things out when I got back next week, but she wasn't having any of that. She was in the office when the ring was delivered, signed for it, and opened the package. Friday, as I was leaving to come here, she told me that if I gave her the ring, we'd be quits. If not, she'd make sure I lost my license and my wife. She promised she'd put her Joan Hancock on anything I wanted her to and disappear from my life forever, but she had to have the diamond. I told her it was impossible. Said I'd get her one exactly like
it. But nooo, it had to be
that
one. It had to be the one I'd given my wife. If she'd taken a knife to my balls, it couldn't have been any worse. There was no way I was going to get the ring away from Betsey. The only time I ever saw her take it off was when she washed dishes, and she always put it right back on. I watched her like a hawk all weekend and Monday.”

“But how would Sandy know it was the same ring? Couldn't you have gotten another one and told her it was Betsey's?” Faith was mentally adding up Dennis's assets. He was doing far better than she'd thought, by gum! Two rings that size could put a good dent in the national debt of some countries. And as for the lie, she didn't think an adulterer would have balked at a fib.

“I'd had something special engraved on the inside of the band. Sandy knew I wouldn't have time to get another engraved. She gave me a deadline—one week. I thought about driving back to Boston, getting a duplicate ring, and trying to get it engraved at one of those places that do it fast. But this was hand engraving, a tricky job. I called around, but I couldn't find any engraver who would guarantee it. Besides, Betsey had those damn walkie-talkies to keep track of everybody. I kept taking the batteries out and telling her they didn't work—I think the boys were doing it, too—but even so, she was keeping her usual eagle eye on us. It was hard enough to get to Williston and calm Sandy down. She was threatening to come here.”

“And then,” Faith said, “on Tuesday, you came in from the slopes—to get something to eat, I guess—and there was the ring sitting in the saucer by the faucets.”

Dennis nodded. Even now, relief flooded his face.

“It was a miracle. I grabbed it, and then I got Scott's laptop—to make it seem like a real burglary—and shoved that in my trunk. I knew Scotty backs everything up, and I guess I was pissed off at Betsey for making him work so hard. The kid barely has a life.”

Faith wished that were so, thinking of Scott's recent activities, including today's trip to Gertrude's hide-away.

“I had to stick around to be here when someone found out the stuff was gone, but I called Sandy and arranged to meet her in Montpelier that night. The office is closed this week, and she's been staying in the area, skiing at Stowe mostly—or rather, mostly making me a nervous wreck. I gave her the ring. She signed the statement I'd prepared—she gets a good reference, plus severance.”

Dennis sounded smug. He looked smug. Faith wished she could move farther away from him without making her growing distaste for the man obvious. As far as he was concerned, everything had been taken care of. He'd been used by a “ball-buster” and was married to another. Maybe he'd made it clear to Sandy that what they were embarking upon was a “fling,” maybe not. Maybe Betsey had taken over his role as “man of the house,” maybe not. At this point, Faith didn't care. What she did care about was all the harm he'd caused. Craig, the Staffords, Simon, and Ophelia but, most of all, to his sons, especially Scott. And what about the Fairchild family vacation? Dick's idyllic birthday?

“So what are you going to do, Faith?”

“I don't know,” she said, “Except if you want an
other sandwich, you're going to have to make it yourself.”

 

Dennis had started to argue with Faith—“Come on, you have to see it from my side!”—but she'd gone into the kitchen, put the food away, and made it clear that she wasn't going to discuss it any further. After a few sputtering tries, he went upstairs, presumably to pack. For Faith, his self-righteous indignation served to make the whole thing worse. She had no doubt now that Dennis considered himself the injured party in all this, ensnared by a devious woman and now minus a considerable sum of money. She wondered what he'd do about the laptop. Maybe he'd “miraculously” find it in a local pawnshop on the way home. She could hear him: Hey, let's check this place out; we're going right by. Maybe they have the ring or the computer.

She felt sick, and restless. The combination sent her scurrying for her parka, hat, and gloves. There was no way she could she stay under the same roof with Dennis until everyone else returned. Besides, she needed to talk to Scott and Ophelia.

It was one of those days that seemed endless, and when she looked at her watch and saw it was only one o'clock, she could scarcely believe it. The sky was overcast and it had started to snow, so she didn't have the sun to go by, and in any case, she had never been adept at things like this, unlike her friend Pix and her family. Every one of them could glance upward and give you the time to the minute; gaze at the moss growing on a tree and tell you your current longitude and
latitude; sniff deeply and predict when the next rain or snow would fall.

She thought about Pix longingly as she entered the woods and set out on the path to Gertrude's cottage. Unlike Monday night, she didn't have Ophelia's path to follow, yet it was daylight—filtered daylight in these deep woods. She could find her way without using the moonlight to guide her as she had before. Again, it was a long trek, and if she hadn't been so concerned about the two teenagers, she would have turned back and gone to the Sports Center. She should have called there before she left and tried to talk to Tom, she realized. Not about Dennis, not over the phone, but to find out what was happening with Eduardo.

It was beautiful. So quiet. The woods reminded her of the Raymond Briggs classic,
The Snowman,
which had been made into a video. She could hear the music that accompanied the boy's journey into the forest with the kindly snowman. She wouldn't mind a kindly snowman or-woman herself right now. The farther in she walked, the farther away she was from the resort. And unlike the story, she wouldn't be emerging into a jolly celebration of dancing snowmen and a festive groaning board with Santa presiding.

She was cold and wished she could have taken the time to put her French long johns on, but that would have meant going upstairs and possibly seeing her brother-in-law. The thought made her shudder.

Then, just as the other night, the house suddenly popped up in front of her. It sat in a clearing, the white gingerbread trim gleaming, frosted by the falling snow.
She noticed the front door was scarlet and besides the strings of tiny white lights, turned off now, the porch was festooned with brightly colored macramé hangings. Strings of faintly tinkling crystals sent rainbows dancing across the snow.

But that was the only motion, and sound. No smoke was coming from the chimney; no voices, no music.

Faith went up the steps, leaving faint prints in the new snow, and knocked on the door. There was no bell. And there was no answer. She walked across to one of the two large bay windows and peered in. She couldn't see a thing. Heavy drapes obscured her view. It was the same at the other one. Drawn to conserve heat? Or drawn because Gertrude was away? She went back down the stairs and circled the house. It appeared that all the windows were covered. She knocked on the back door. Silence.