The Body in the Moonlight (21 page)

“What was this for?” Faith asked the woman sitting next to her, who was knitting an incredibly complicated sweater that seemed to involve several dozen different needles and colors of yarn.

“It was in the minutes, but you may have missed it. Janice has volunteered to cover school events for the town paper and for our own Winthrop archives. She's a gifted photographer and has a darkroom of her own at her house. When you leave, look at the pictures of our Halloween parade outside the main office. They're hers.”

Faith thought for sure she would have tuned in if Janice's name had come up during the reading of the minutes, but perhaps not. She had a lot on her mind these days. So Janice Mulholland had a darkroom at home….

The meeting moved on at its own petty pace. Tempers flared a bit during a vote on whether to petition the superintendent to increase the size and scope of Winthrop's gifted-and-talented program, but the president handled it by tabling discussion until the next meeting, at which time a study group would report back. Hands were quickly raised and waved: Pick me! Pick me! It really
was
elementary school. After the names of the volunteers were taken, the meeting proceeded.

Faith was beginning to get sleepy and wished she
could believe the coffee urn, which had been a frequent destination all evening, along with the boxes of Munchkins beside it, contained something resembling a decent brew.

Why had she come? To make an appearance. To get to know the terrain. Yes, but also because she thought she'd pick up something about George—vibrations. She'd been calling Janice all day to continue yesterday's conversation and there had been no answer, even after school, when presumably Missy would be there practicing her perfect pitch or working on her soon-to-be bestselling novel. This time, she wanted to talk to Janice with no interruptions—and march her off to Tom or Charley, even George. She would make the woman admit what she had done…. She jerked her head up. George was approaching the podium.

He looked out at the parents and a hush descended on the room. The woman next to Faith shoved her knitting in a bag at her feet and folded her hands in her lap.

George smiled. It wasn't a happy smile. It wasn't a sad smile. Just a smile. And Faith felt her heart would burst.

“I don't think I have to tell you how much I love this school. You do, too. And it's because of what we share that I've decided to come and talk to you tonight. Trust is an essential ingredient in both raising and educating children and now—”

The earsplitting siren from the fire alarm pulsated throughout the room. People jumped up, overturning chairs. Above it all, George's calm voice urged every
one to exit from the rear doors of the cafeteria and go to the far end of the playground. Obediently, the parents filed out. Most had remembered to grab their coats, but some soon stood shivering outside. Quite a few simply went to their cars and left. It seemed only a matter of seconds before the fire trucks, ambulance, and police arrived. The revolving red and blue lights intensified the drama of the scene.

A man's voice cut through the night air. “It can't be a coincidence. You know there's no fire. He was going to confess and resign.”

“Confess what? That's what I'd like to know!” a woman declared angrily. “All we've heard has been a bunch of filthy rumors. I went to Winthrop when I was in elementary school and now my third child is here. No one's going to convince me that George Hammond is anything but the finest principal in the state of Massachusetts—no, make that the world.” Loud applause greeted her statement, but the man who had spoken walked away with a group of parents to the other side of the swings, staking out turf. Faith suspected that George hadn't been about to confess to anything, yet she was pretty sure he had been about to resign. Now he was with the fire department, taking care of his school. She was glad someone had pulled the alarm. She would have done it herself if she'd thought of it.

There was no time to waste. She had to get Janice to make some kind of statement. Anything to keep George from finishing his remarks. She should have camped out on the woman's doorstep, but Faith had
assumed George would tell her and Tom what he was going to do. Maybe it had been a spur-of-the-moment thing. Maybe he'd decided while listening to the minutes. She looked around. The playground was lighted at night to prevent vandalism—it was bright enough to recognize people. And Janice was nowhere in sight.

There was only one thing to do. Go to the woman's house again. And yes, Faith rehearsed, I do know it's a school night.

 

Janice was not glad to see her. She did not invite Faith in. She did not offer coffee. She did not offer anything. She simply stood in her doorway and said, “Now what is it?”

Faith stepped forward. She felt like an encyclopedia salesman. Janice was forced to move back into the house and Faith was in. She closed the door behind her.

“Well?” Janice folded her arms across her chest. As far as body language went, it was not a good sign. Faith kept her arms at her sides, neutral.

“Janice. We need to finish talking. I'm sure you know that George was probably going to resign tonight. This has gotten way out of control and you seem to be the only person who can do anything to stop this tragic mistake. A mistake that will hurt all our children and the entire community!”

Janice spun around and opened the drawer in her coffee table, fumbling with the pack of cigarettes. As she lighted one, she spoke in angry staccatos. “It's not enough that I have the police here night and day about
Jared Gabriel. And searching my darkroom in the basement. So I take pictures. What's wrong with that? Plenty of people have darkrooms. And you could walk into any house in town and find dangerous chemicals. Then you and this George Hammond thing! What the hell do you people want?” She tapped out some ash. “Look, get this straight once and for all. George Hammond is not fit to be the principal of our elementary school. Yes, I made those calls. Happy now? As a parent, I have a right and an obligation to complain.”

“But not to make false accusations. If you would only tell the police that you made the calls,” Faith begged. “That you were stressed about what you thought was going on at school. That you got too emotional. We all know how much you care about your daughter. Sometimes our caring can get in the way—”

Janice had slumped over while Faith was talking, convincing Faith that she was taking the right tack. Except Janice was merely gathering strength.

“You don't know anything about my daughter or what she said, and you don't know what you're talking about!” she screamed.

What her daughter said. It was Missy, Faith realized dully. Not Janice making the accusations, but Missy.

“Did Missy tell you that something had happened at school?” Faith kept her voice low and steady. She was sure the child herself couldn't be sleeping through all this, and she had to get Janice to calm down. Oh God, if Missy had come home and told Janice that the principal had done something to her, no wonder the
woman had gone off the deep end. Had the child somehow misinterpreted a gesture on George's part? Without leave and certainly unwelcome, Faith sank into one of Janice's plaid-covered club chairs. It was too much to take in.

“What are you talking about? What's Mrs. Fairchild doing here?” It was Missy, awakened, as Faith had feared, and now standing in the doorway, staring straight at her mother. She was a pretty little girl, tall for her age, with straight light brown hair touching her shoulders and large dark brown eyes. Intelligent eyes. Sleepless eyes.

“It's nothing, darling. You go back to bed. Tomorrow's a school day.”

“It's not nothing. I heard you.”

“Go to bed, Missy. This has nothing to do with you.” Janice raised her voice and spoke tersely, but Missy stood her ground, clad in a long-sleeved nightgown with a teddy bear on the front.

“She's always asking me things. She won't stop. Every day when I come home from school or from church after choir rehearsals or from anywhere.” Missy was talking to Faith. “She always has to know everything.”

“Go to bed immediately, young lady, or you will lose your privileges!”

Missy walked over to Faith. “I heard you talking to my mother.” There was a pleading tone in her voice.

“Missy, did Mr. Hammond—your principal—ever do anything to you or someone you know that made
you feel uncomfortable?” Faith didn't know how to phrase the question, but she wanted to get it said before Janice exploded. Missy had gone through Safe Children training at school, so she helped Faith out.

“You mean like bad touching and then maybe saying to keep it a secret?”

“Yes. Did that ever happen?”

Missy looked at her mother. “No,” she whispered.

“That's not what you said and you know it! Mrs. Fairchild is trying to trick you. She's a friend of the principal's. Don't listen to her!” She ran over and grabbed Missy, pulling her close to her body, as if both she and Missy were shields. Missy arched her back away from her mother.

“She kept asking me all the time. Saying not to be afraid to say something about Mr. Hammond or Mr. Gabriel. She just wouldn't stop.”

“But nothing ever happened, did it? With either of them?” Faith asked again.

Missy shook her head.

“Get out of my house right now! Do you hear me. I don't care who you are, damn you! Get out of my house!”

Faith left.

 

Janice Mulholland was taken to state police headquarters the next morning for questioning—with her lawyer. Faith had been in an agony of despair after she left the woman's home, but there had been no question about what to do. Tom sat with her when
John Dunne and Charley arrived together to hear what Faith had to say.

Afterward, Dunne said, “We got an anonymous tip that she had a darkroom in her basement—that wasn't you, was it?—and she was considerably more rattled when we went back this morning than she had been yesterday. Made several contradictions.”

“I never called—and if I had, it wouldn't have been anonymously. I only found out about the darkroom tonight at the PTA meeting.”

Dunne raised his brows, creating a truly horrific effect. “This is what they were talking about at the PTA?”

“Sort of. She's photographing school events and they gave her a round of applause. I hadn't actually taken it in, but the woman next to me explained.”

“That's how I feel at those things,” Dunne remarked.

The notion of John Dunne at a PTA meeting was more than Faith could cope with and she filed it away to consider at another time. Dunne at a school picnic. Dunne at Parent's Night in those little chairs.

“I feel partially responsible,” Tom said. “I didn't realize how much her husband's desertion had unhinged her. I even thought it was a good thing that she had a child to focus on, someone to bring her out of herself and her depression. She came for counseling a few times, then said she'd come when she needed it. Unfortunately, she didn't—and I didn't follow up.” His admission hung in the air.

Faith hated to see him beat up on himself. “I don't think pastoral counseling would have helped. Janice
needed, and needs, psychological help. She sees danger for Missy—and by extension, herself—everywhere. I think she's really convinced that Missy was abused in some way and that George was responsible.”

“Psych One oh one—or you've been reading those women's magazines,” Dunne said, “but I happen to agree. She may also have convinced herself that Jared Gabriel was a sexual threat to her child. Somehow, Gwen Lord got his dessert instead—the one with the cyanide from Mulholland's darkroom. Then on Sunday night, Janice finished what she started out to do. The wound was precise and made by someone with a knowledge of anatomy. She was in medical school, remember.” He sounded satisfied. The Aleford pieces were coming together. It was all a little wacky, but they fit. He decided to thank Faith.

“I admit I wasn't happy to see you yesterday, but the way things have worked out, I have to thank you. It would have taken us a lot longer.”

Why didn't she feel better? Faith wondered. John almost never gave her the slightest crumb of acknowledgment, let alone thanks.

“Are you going to arrest her tomorrow?” she asked.

“Early days. We're certainly going to question her, and she's admitted to you that she made those phone calls, so I imagine George Hammond will press charges,” Dunne answered cautiously.

They left and the Fairchilds went to bed.

“Who do you think pulled the fire alarm?” Tom asked sleepily.

Faith felt a little smug. “That's easy. I knew right away, but everything I tell you is confidential, right? You being a reverend and all. You can't tell another living soul.”

Tom pulled her closer. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Our own Mrs. Black, of course. Who else?”

 

But hearing for sure that Janice had been taken in for questioning and that the town had now mustered full force in George Hammond's defense did not provide Faith with the peace—or, to use the current nomenclature, “closure”—she was seeking. There were too many loose ends.

For one thing, there was Tom.

She was startled to see him come through the back door into the kitchen late in the morning. She was on the phone with Pix, who was passing on Aleford's reaction to the news that Janice Mulholland had started the rumors about George and might be involved in the two recent murders.

“How on earth could people have found out about this so soon? Does Millicent have microphones in all our walls?” Faith asked.

“She certainly learns a lot simply by looking out her window, and she wasn't the only one who saw Charley's car at your house last night. And John Dunne has a pretty distinctive silhouette. Remember, Millicent knows him from the time you rang the bell at the old belfry.”