The Body in the Kelp (17 page)

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Authors: Katherine Hall Page

BOOK: The Body in the Kelp
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“Or maybe the gold has been there since her father's time.”
Faith stopped the car again to have another look at the photos.
“Maybe we should get rid of the ones we've identified and just keep a list of the names.”
“I think we should hold on to them. There's always the possibility we've identified something incorrectly, or by one of its other names.”
They sat in silence for a moment, which Pix broke somewhat hesitantly. “It's been a bit like a game up to now. If, a very big if, we do find something valuable, what are you going to do with it?”
Faith realized she had been thinking primarily of the journey and not the arrival. Although from the moment she had seen the spidery handwritten “Seek and Ye Shall Find” at the Fraziers', she'd been convinced it was some sort of treasure.
“
Us,
not me. Let's get that understood. I never could have identified all these squares without you or known where they led. But I'm sure it's the gold, Pix, and I know you don't just mean we'd never have to worry about our children's college tuitions or wardrobes again. You must have had as much Sunday School as I did.” Faith pictured the pin with all the bars for perfect attendance, which grew steadily longer on the lapel of her navy-blue coat from B. Altman's as the hem of said garment kept pace. She was sure there was a similar bijou in Pix's past. Along with all those “Do what you think is best, dear” remarks from parents who would have been astonished if you had. It was a burden that Faith had been endeavoring to unload for some time. Now might be as good a time as any, but she still said to Pix, “You mean what is the
right
thing to do.”
“I suppose I do. Of course, we may never find it.”
Neither of them believed that for a moment any longer, and the look they exchanged said as much.
Faith continued wrestling. “Probably the morally correct thing to do would be to split it with the Prescotts. Take a finder's fee. Or give the whole thing to some worthwhile cause.”
“Legally, of course, I think it would be ours. Abandoned property or something like that.”
They laughed. “I wonder what our husbands would advise,” Faith mused. “Representing God and Mammon.”
“I wouldn't say that exactly.” Pix was a little peeved. “Sam does plenty of pro bono work.”
“You know what I mean. I only thought it would be funny if Tom said finders keepers and Sam said give it away.”
“This is all castles in the air until we locate what is in that last square.”
“Very nice castles, but you're right. Let's get going.”
She pulled out onto the road, and they followed it for almost a mile before another choice presented itself. The next square was North Star and Pix told her which way was north. Faith said a silent prayer of thanks to the Girl Scouts or whomever for the thorough training Pix had had in her youth. The road suddenly plummeted, and they careened up and down two hills. The burned-rubber tire tracks in evidence indicated it was a favorite spot for those island youth possessing cars, and Faith could see why. She looked forward to driving it again herself, slightly faster this time. “Hill and Valley it is,” she noted jubilantly.
When the road took them past an old schoolhouse that a summer person had painstakingly restored, they felt the treasure was almost in their grasp. But not quite.
Faith stopped the car again.
“Let me see the next square. Jacob's Ladder ? How does that fit in ? Are any of the rungs a different pattern? Or does it seem to be pointing a certain way?”
“No, it's all the same. Very regular and there are three possible roads here and all these woods.”
“Fern Berry doesn't give us much help either,” Faith observed dismally as she looked at the lush ferns, bright red bunchberries, and other bracken that grew along each roadside.
“And we don't know the one after, and the one after that is Shady Pine.”
They looked up glumly at the awning of evergreens surrounding them.
Pix sneezed.
“It looks like it's back to the books and back to the antihistamines for me.” She was allergic to ragweed, and this was the worst time of year for her.
“I thought the rain was supposed to drive the pollen out of the air,” Faith commiserated.
“So did I.” Pix sneezed three times in rapid succession.
Faith started the engine. “There are only two more squares to identify now. Even if we didn't name that spiderwebby one, I'm sure it had to do with that ocean view. And if worst comes to worst, we'll go down each of these and look for noticeably shady pines or ferny berries.”
Pix laughed and sneezed at the same time.
“We're in the right spot, though. No question.”
“What makes you so positive?”
“This spit of land is called Prescott Point, that's why.”
Faith was impressed.
As they passed the turnoff for Prescott's lobster pound, Faith said, “Do you mind if I stop to pick up some fish?”
“Not at all. I'll see if Sonny has any scallops today. Scallop stew is Samantha's favorite.”
Faith parked the car next to the bait shack and tried to keep upwind of the smell. Sonny was at the end of the dock where two boats were unloading their catch. Faith regarded the still-quivering, glistening bodies in the hold with anticipation. The only way she'd ever get fresher fish would be to catch it herself—an unlikely prospect. She selected what she wanted and followed Sonny into the office, where he weighed it out. He was a small man, but trim and muscular. His blond hair was crew cut, since he had never bothered to change his hairstyle after his military service. Faith had heard he was the star pitcher and coach for the Fish Hawks. She wondered if he'd given the team its name. As he wrapped the fish, she noticed his nails were bitten to the quick and his hands were red and chafed from his work. He handed her the bag.
“It will be delicious,” she commented.
“Waal, can't say I ever cared much for the creatures. I like a good steak myself,” he said.
“That's got to be a bit harder to find than fish on this island.” She smiled.
“Ayup, but we always want what we can't get, Mrs. Fairchild.” The intensity of his glance full in her face seemed to pin her against the wall next to some coiled rope, netting, and a long fly trap black with prey.
“I suppose so,” she said without looking away. She paid and joined Pix on the dock, wondering as she did whether what had just occurred was an oblique reference to Matilda's house, the quilt, or a come-on. Maybe all three. She'd never heard him say “Ayup” before either. A reminder of turf?
He stood in the doorway and watched them go to the car.
“I'm sorry he didn't have any scallops. Maybe Monday,” Pix said.
“What do you know about him? He seemed almost sinister today. The last time I was here, he was full of jokes and talked my ear off. Do you think he's heard about the quilt?”
“No, or he would have said something. Sonny and Margery Prescott are as honest as they come. We've known them for years. He's probably worried about the catch today, or maybe he's not feeling well. You know there
can
be logical explanations for things, Faith. You're beginning to imagine bandits behind every bush.”
“I suppose you're right. I do feel surrounded by a kind of cocoon of suspicions. I keep looking at people and wondering where they were when Bird was killed, or the house broken into, or even if they have the kind of drill that made the holes in Roger's boat.”
“Well, Sonny certainly has a drill like that, I'm sure. And I'm equally sure he didn't do it.” Pix's mouth was set in a firm straight line. It reminded Faith of the lines they used to have to draw under the predicate with their rulers when she was in grade school. The line suddenly curved toward the rest of the sentence.
“I thought this was going to be the perfect vacation for you and you'd fall in love with the island. How wrong could a person be?”
“Not very wrong at all! I do love the island, and while it certainly hasn't been the perfect vacation, it hasn't been dull. And anyway, nothing more is going to happen, except when we
find the treasure.” Faith was surprised to hear her declaration of allegiance to Sanpere and even more surprised to realize it was true.
Both children had gone down for naps when they returned. Pix decided to go home, take an allergy pill, and lie down too. The “nannies” reluctantly relinquished their role and went with her. Pix had promised to take them to the dance at the Legion Hall that night, and they had to decide what to wear. This could take all afternoon.
As Pix was leaving, Faith said, “If you don't feel up to it, I can take the girls to the dance for a while and you can lie down here.”
“Oh, I'm sure I'll be all right. These pills are magic, though I do hate taking them. They make me so dopey.”
Pix was loath to take even an aspirin and was driven to any form of medication only if in dire pain. Faith had found this to be characteristic of New Englanders. They seemed to revel in the antique remedies enjoyed by their foremothers and -fathers, righteously avoiding the relief provided by modern medicine. “Let Nature take its course,” one parishioner was fond of saying whenever she heard of an illness in the congregation. Faith reflected if we had let Nature take its course unhindered all these years, most of us would be dead.
“Call me if you need me,” she shouted after Pix. “Otherwise, I'll talk to you tomorrow.”
After they left, she felt a certain relief. The children were asleep and it was nice to be alone. It would have been nicer if Tom was there—he had called early in the morning to make sure she was still alive and kicking, or so she had accused him. She was extremely happy to hear his voice, though, and they agreed he would call at the same time for the next few days.
Now, after the intensity of the last twenty-four hours, she was content to go into the kitchen and poach some fish for the mousse. She decided to bake some bread too. The real comfort food. The real comfort smell.
 
She couldn't keep her thoughts away from the scene in Bird and Andy's shack. She plunged her hands into the dough, trying to knead away the memory of all that redness, all that blood. As
she built up the rhythm and felt the dough smooth into an elastic texture under her hands, she wondered how Bill Fox was. The Fraziers hadn't called. His silent grief had a self-destructive quality, or perhaps it was self-preservation—if he gave way to what he was feeling, it would be impossible to be whole again. Either way it was terrible. She tried to think about Bird. Who was she ? Was it simply her startling beauty that had enthralled Bill and Roger, or had it been more than that? Faith had categorized her immediately as the flower child of parents poised in the sixties forever, picturing Bird's mother in black tights, ballerina flats, sack dress, and Student Peace Union button, teaching little Bird to weave, silk screen, or whatever. Or maybe Bird was as romantic in her way as Bill, yearning for what she imagined the sixties to have been like and re-creating them in her person. Whatever she had been, she had a kind of consistency Faith admired—from afar. Bird had decided to live a certain way and had not merely adopted a few surface trappings—the beads, the hair, the inevitable water-buffalo sandals.
Faith put the bread to rise again and went upstairs. Zoë was lying in the cradle awake and talking softly to herself. Faith leaned down to pick her up and thought how much simpler it would be to adopt Zoe than go through the whole tedious business of pregnancy again. Maybe it wasn't such a crazy idea. It could be that Bird didn't have any family, or perhaps if she did, they wouldn't want the child or be able to take her. And Andy had told the police he wanted nothing to do with Zoë, that she was all Bird's idea.
Ben was up too, and they all went outside again. He taught Zoë by example how to roll down the little hill behind the cottage and soon they were shrieking with delight.
It was late in the afternoon and Faith was gathering her small charges for mousse when the phone rang. She grabbed them to hurry inside before it stopped—something that happened with irritating frequency.
It was Pix, or some approximation of Pix. Her nose was so stuffed up, she sounded like a caricature of herself.
“Faith, cud you ruddy tage de gurls to de danse?”
Faith hastened to interrupt her. It was a horrible sound.
“Don't say another word. Please. Of course I can take them. Why don't you plan to spend the night here, both of you ? Then you can get settled in bed when the kids go to sleep. You know there's plenty of room.”
In between major trumpeting into possibly an entire box of tissues, they established that Pix would come over after dinner and spend the night. Samantha was going home with Arlene, and Faith could drop them there no later than eleven o'clock, which Pix and Arlene's mother had established as a reasonable curfew.

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