The Body in the Moonlight (25 page)

“Just fooling with you. Again, details. The pleasure of my craft is in the details. Readers love those little touches. I wonder if there might be some way I could get the recipe for those scrumptious muffins you brought when you came to my house. Manna from heaven—the food and your arrival. It was all falling right into my lap. I could print the recipe in the book. You'd be leaving a little something, too.”

“No, thank you,” Faith said frostily.

“No need to take offense.”

Faith didn't, especially since she could see a dim shape inching slowly toward them from the other end of the crypt. It was so dark, she couldn't make out whether it was a man or a woman. Not tall enough for Tom. But whoever it was, it was help.

She started talking frantically, loudly.

“I don't understand why you have to kill me. This has all been a figment of your imagination. I don't believe a word of it. That's what I would say to the police or anyone else. You certainly had me fooled for a moment, but now why don't we go upstairs and have the milk and cookies.”

“Delightful, delightful. Would that I could. But I must bid you adieu. And this won't hurt but a moment. Jared didn't feel a thing, I believe. If there's one thing I know, it's how to kill people. Again, one of those
happy accidents. I saw him on his way to his car—apparently after playing in church—asked him for a lift home, killed him, then deposited him on your lawn later. Now hold still.” He pinned her against the column with one hand, forcing the flashlight painfully hard against her neck, and lifted the other hand to strike.

Faith screamed, an inarticulate gurgling, and tried to push him away.

The shadowy figure took a giant step forward and brought one of the huge First Parish altar candlesticks squarely down on the mystery writer's head. It was an ecclesiastical mace and the man dropped like a stone.

“Let's get out of here. Places like this give me the creeps. I need a cigarette.” It was Janice Mulholland, the woman herself.

 

Faith called 911; then she called John Dunne at state police headquarters and Tom. Finally, she got a cup from the church kitchen for Janice to use as an ashtray and said, “How in God's name did you just happen to come along?”

“It had nothing to do with God—or maybe it does—but I got a call from someone from the church saying that they were meeting here to interview candidates for music director and that it was the expressed wish of the committee that I withdraw my daughter from the choir to make the job easier for the new person. They dragged up that old business about Missy tripping the soloist last year on purpose, when everyone who was
there could see the girl was a klutz and fell over her own feet. Whoever it was—I didn't catch the name—said I was welcome to express my opinion at the end of the meeting, which would be about five o'clock, and not to come before then or I wouldn't be heard at all.”

Actors. Murderers are marvelous actors.

“The more I thought about it, the more pissed off I got. I mean, who do you people think you are?”

Faith felt called upon to remind Janice that it had been Anson, that there really wasn't any meeting, and that, in any case, she wouldn't have been there.

“Right. I know this. Sorry. Just thinking about it makes me mad all over again. He certainly knew the right buttons to push.”

He certainly did. Only, thankfully, this time he pushed a little too hard. He'd planned on being long gone by the time Janice showed up.

“Anyway, I came over and the church was empty. I couldn't figure out where they were meeting. Then I figured maybe they were showing the candidates the organ and the choir loft, so I went into the sanctuary, but that was empty, too. I was going to leave, when I heard Anson Scott's voice. I recognized it right away. It was coming through the heat register in the floor. I thought that was odd. He's not a member of the church, and why would he be in the crypt? I thought maybe he was researching a book, and I was going to go down to say hello, when I heard my name, so naturally I lay down and put my ear to the grate. I couldn't believe it! At first, I was going to
call the police and let them handle it, but I was afraid he might kill you while I was away, so I grabbed one of the candlesticks—they weigh a ton—and went down the stairs. The rest you know.”

The sirens in the distance were getting closer.

“The rest I know,” said Faith, throwing her arms around the PTA secretary.

“Chair the book fair in the spring?” Janice asked, never one to let an opportunity pass.

Everything has a price, Faith thought, yet this was one she would happily pay. “Anything you want.”

 

By the time Faith got home from the police station, the casserole brigade had been out in full force. Patsy and Pix were still holding the fort.

“Millicent dropped by and brought you this.” Patsy held a package of freeze-dried beef stew by one corner, as if it might be contaminated. “She said you should save it for later and you'd know what that meant.”

“Unfortunately, I do.” Faith's throat hurt and every molecule in her body called out for Tylenol and sleep, but she was so happy to be alive, sitting on the couch, that she forced herself to stay awake. Tom had arrived at the church with the kids—Amy sockless and shoe-less—and he hadn't left her side since.

“Fortunately, while you've been gone, I've cooked some smothered pork chops, collards, and rice,” Patsy said.

“I knew this house smelled better than when I left,” Tom said. “I'm starving.” He looked at his wife. “Go
eat,” she said, thrilled that his appetite was back. “I'll have some tomorrow. But you should all eat now. It does smell fantastic.” She'd had Patsy's smothered pork chops before—onions, peppers, rich brown gravy, and meat so tender, it dropped off the bone.

They returned with heaping plates and a big bowl of Crème Crémaillère ice cream for Faith.

Before everyone got settled, Faith stood up and said, “The first person who says ‘I told you so' doesn't get dessert, but please help me move this couch back where it was. We'll be lighting fires soon and it's ridiculous not to sit in front of the fireplace—besides, I've had my fill of looking at headstones.”

 

Faith was sitting in church, counting her blessings, or trying to count them, so she could avoid thinking about her intimate acquaintance with the area just below her feet. It was the time set aside for announcements. The senior warden got to her feet and said, “In light of recent events, the vestry has decided to forgo today's meeting to decide the use to which our Anniversary Campaign fund-raising be put. It has become evident that the appalling condition of the crypt demands our immediate attention.” Faith was stunned. The senior warden had been one of the most militant and outspoken steeple advocates. “The campaign will concentrate on a project to put in new wiring, clean the memorial stones, and, in general, make it possible for us to use the crypt for services when appropriate. If there are any objec
tions, individuals may make them known to myself or the junior warden, but this is our decision.” She faced Faith directly. “We would now like to offer a prayer of thanksgiving for the deliverance of our minister's wife.” Feeling slightly like a parcel and with a passing wish that she had been named, not labeled, Faith was nonetheless extraordinarily touched and surprised. The faces of the congregation
did
look thankful and a few eyes were brimming, most notably Pix's. Tom was beaming at her from the pulpit and they exchanged a glance. Yes, these people could drive you crazy, but you had to love them.

 

Several hours later, walking at Drumlin Farm, Faith told Tom how she'd felt.

“Exactly. This is how I feel most of the time, too, except at long meetings. Anyway, I'm glad the steeple/crypt thing has been resolved. I wasn't looking forward to more acrimony. The whole thing has gone on much too long. Of course,” he said swiftly, “I would have liked it to have been resolved in a different manner.”

“Me, too.”

They were on a nature walk led by an earnest guide from the Audubon Society. Faith couldn't remember whether it was about seed dispersal or identifying animal droppings. They had been on so many of these that she didn't pay much attention to the topic except when they came for sugaring off in the spring. Ben had scampered on ahead. Amy was in the Gerry Pack on
Tom's back. Her little head, with its wispy corn-silk hair, rested against his shoulder blade. She was talking to herself.

The drumlin, a high ridge left by the glacier, was ahead of them and they were soon at the top. Rural Lincoln, which happily existed in a kind of eco–time warp in a corner of the sprawling western suburbs, lay at their feet. The nature group was at one end, examining milkweed pods or deer pellets.

Faith looked at her husband. “We still have to talk,” she said softly. “It doesn't have to be now, but sometime.”

For a moment, Tom didn't reply; then he said, “She was having panic attacks about getting married. She'd had trouble with depression before and was afraid of saddling Jared with her problems. She came to me a few times, but she rejected all my suggestions—that they come see me together or that she get some psychological help. She used to go through very bad periods where voices would tell her things—get married; don't get married. I advised she put the wedding off, but she wouldn't hear of that, either. I had the feeling it wasn't just her engagement that was bothering her, but something else, as well. She mentioned how guilty she felt quite often, and I don't think it was simply about misleading Jared. The last time I saw her—that night—she told me everything was fine. That talking to me had ‘cured' her. But I didn't believe it. The way she was acting, it was as if she had to convince me.”

Faith took her husband's hand.

“When she died, I felt worse than I've ever felt in my life. That somehow it was my fault. I felt my faith slipping away—both of them. It's been horrible. I've been horrible.”

“No,” she said. “Just human.”

He managed a smile. “But ministers aren't supposed to be human.”

“You don't believe that.”

“No, I don't, but you know what I mean. We're supposed to be above emotion.”

And temptation, Faith added silently, thinking of how heartbreakingly attractive Gwendolyn Lord in great distress must have been.

“Then the whole thing broke with George Hammond and finally Jared's murder. I went off the deep end myself. I just couldn't put things in perspective. I've started going to see Max; it's helped.” Max was older than Tom, the rabbi at Aleford's synagogue.

It was hard to get her arm around Tom's waist with the backpack, but Faith managed and pulled him close.

They'd be continuing this conversation for the rest of their lives, but there was one thing she had to tell him right away.

“I went to the city on Thursday to have lunch with Andy.”

“I know,” Tom said. “Your boarding pass was in the trash. I hope he took you someplace good.”

Ben came running up. “You have to see this! It's called jewel-weed. As soon as you touch it, it kind of
explodes and shoots its seeds into the air.” He grabbed Faith's hand. “Come on, Mom! Come on, Dad! You're missing everything!”

Oh no we're not, Faith thought, and let herself be pulled across the wide-open field.