The Body In the Belfry (21 page)
Read The Body In the Belfry Online
Authors: Katherine Hall Page
| Pix Miller | No alibi for Murder 1 or Murder 2 |
Pix reported that she was shopping at the mall at the time of Cindy's death. She had been buying shoes and the saleswoman had remembered her, but not the exact time, other than that it was after lunch and before break. When Patricia was killed, Pix had been doing housework, always a solitary and unverifiable occupation. It was only noticeable when one didn't do it.
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Motives:
She discovered what Cindy was doing and killed to protect her husband's reputation and their marriage. Again she killed Patricia to prevent her from linking the Millers to the original crime.
She discovered what Cindy was doing and killed to protect her husband's reputation and their marriage. Again she killed Patricia to prevent her from linking the Millers to the original crime.
| Oswald Pearson | No alibi for Murder 1 or Murder 2 |
Pearson claimed he was in and out of his office both days working on stories. Faith remembered passing him on her way to the belfry, so he was in the area.
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Motives:
Cindy was definitely blackmailing him, but with his mother's death, it had lost most of its force. Unless there was more to it than he revealed. Again, she was leaving town soon and would be out of his thinning hair presumably for good. The only motive for killing Patricia was if she had known he killed Cindy.
Cindy was definitely blackmailing him, but with his mother's death, it had lost most of its force. Unless there was more to it than he revealed. Again, she was leaving town soon and would be out of his thinning hair presumably for good. The only motive for killing Patricia was if she had known he killed Cindy.
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Millicent Revere McKinley
(this was Faith's contribution). No alibi for either day, or any other day.
(this was Faith's contribution). No alibi for either day, or any other day.
She was certainly in close vicinity of the belfry on the day of Cindy's murder and had easy access to the roses, as did anyone strolling by her fence, but Millicent no doubt had them counted. Any murderer would certainly bring one along rather than risk the wrath of Millicent before even getting to kill Cindy. Faith made a note to check the roses in the Svenson's and Miller's gardens. And since Millicent didn't attend the Fairchilds' church, her absence would not have been noted. She could have broken into the Moores' house.
Motives:
She was crazed by the use to which Cindy was putting the belfry, Dave apparently not being the only one to enjoy its timbered pleasures, and then she had to kill Patricia to prevent her from revealing what Millicent had done? Tom grudgingly agreed to include her in the list, but felt it was a pretty weak reed.
She was crazed by the use to which Cindy was putting the belfry, Dave apparently not being the only one to enjoy its timbered pleasures, and then she had to kill Patricia to prevent her from revealing what Millicent had done? Tom grudgingly agreed to include her in the list, but felt it was a pretty weak reed.
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Robert Moore.
Faith wrote this and looked at Tom. “It doesn't seem possible that he would kill Patricia, but maybe he killed Cindy and someone else killed Patricia?”
Faith wrote this and looked at Tom. “It doesn't seem possible that he would kill Patricia, but maybe he killed Cindy and someone else killed Patricia?”
Tom disagreed. “I think the same person killed both of them, and I know Robert doesn't have alibis for either time. Few people wouldâit was lunch time, hard to prove you were someplace as opposed to being in your office with your secretary or whatever. And we don't know the extent of his money worries. I'm not saying I consider him a strong suspect.” Tom ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture of fatigue and irritation. “Holy
merde,
Faith, I can't seriously consider any of these people as suspects, they're my friends, not to mention parishioners, except for Millicent.”
merde,
Faith, I can't seriously consider any of these people as suspects, they're my friends, not to mention parishioners, except for Millicent.”
Faith said skeptically, “I'm not so sure I would actually call her a friend either. But as for Robert, we have to put everything down. We do know he wasn't terribly grieved over Cindy's death. Patricia inherited everything and now it goes to him. Maybe he has a secret life. A cozy mistress on Beacon Hill?
“You know, Tom,” she continued, “I'm convinced that Jenny knows something. Of course she would be reacting this way simply on account of her mother's death, but I can't help but feel that there is something more. Something she overheard maybe and then there was that strange remark Patricia made about family. Family, now what does that remind me of? Something Rob said.” Faith shook her head impatiently.
“Don't worry, you'll remember,” assured Tom. “Now, for the life of me, I can't think of anyone else to put on the list.”
“Well, there are the quilters, bridge club members, and friends, but I don't see how any of them would have benefited from either or both deaths. Sam seems to have been the only prey for Cindy in town. At least that we know of to date.
“Pix is a member of the Bridge Club and I'll ask her for the names. Casually, Tom,” she emphasized, seeing Tom's expression, “Believe me, I am not risking life and
limb, or your peace of mind by going around asking a lot of questions. The words are low profile.'”
limb, or your peace of mind by going around asking a lot of questions. The words are low profile.'”
She wrinkled her forehead. “I wonder if there could be anything in what Trishia said? You know, some girl who lost her boyfriend to Cindy going berserk and stalking her. But then how would Patricia fit in? Still, maybe I should talk to Scott again.” She smiled wickedly. “With Trishia and anyone else you might want to have along to keep an eye on me.”
“That's a pretty loose definition of âlow profile,' but as it happens I think it's not a bad idea. And since it's our only idea, I think
we
can follow it up. Scott called the Svensons, incidentally, and has talked to the lawyer.”
we
can follow it up. Scott called the Svensons, incidentally, and has talked to the lawyer.”
“I knew he would come through.” Faith felt somewhat vindicated.
Benjamin was snoring softly in his swing; lying in lopsided comfort. Faith reached across the table and took Tom's nice warm hand.
“I really can't think of any other suspects. Well, there's us, MacIsaac, and Dunne, but we can't get too crazy. Besides, if Cindy had had something on Dunne, he would have been more likely to tan her hide than kill her, and the same goes for Charley.”
“What about the way they were killed? Cindy's was quick; she wouldn't have known what was happening after the initial stab of pain, but Patricia's death was truly agonizing. Unless,” he stopped and appeared even more puzzled, “unless the murderer thought the poison would just put her to sleep. A gentle death. But in any case a death he or she wouldn't have to see.”
“That would tell us that it was Robert or Dave. Someone who loved her.”
Tom looked at Faith and drank the last of his wine.
“Robert or Daveâor one of her kids?”
Faith stared back at him. She had a sudden image of
Rob at the Willow Tree. She had forgotten all about it, assuming he was there on a date or whatever. But it wasn't a usual haunt for Aleford kids. Much more likely to be a place you'd go if you didn't want to run into anyone you knew. This and Jenny's hysterical grief smacked into her consciousness. It was like walking into a door. She told Tom about it and he was inclined to dismiss it, but added the information to the sheet.
Rob at the Willow Tree. She had forgotten all about it, assuming he was there on a date or whatever. But it wasn't a usual haunt for Aleford kids. Much more likely to be a place you'd go if you didn't want to run into anyone you knew. This and Jenny's hysterical grief smacked into her consciousness. It was like walking into a door. She told Tom about it and he was inclined to dismiss it, but added the information to the sheet.
“All right, put them on the list,” Faith said, “And then let's burn the damn thing.”
Tom didn't burn it, but put it carefully into one of his files. Then he followed Faith upstairs where she was changing Benjamin's diaper. He got out a fresh sleeper and they found some solace in the everyday routine of putting the baby to bed.
They got into their own bed and Faith snuggled up against Tom. “I don't feel much like a heroine,” she said.
“Just wait a moment,” he replied.
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Overnight, winter descended on Aleford. By Sunday morning the trees had dropped all their remaining leaves in unsightly heaps, which a freezing wind made impossible to rake up. At eleven, as Tom was stepping into the pulpit, a heavy rain splattered against the windows like a barrage of gunshots. The congregation stiffened and it seemed to Faith that no one relaxed again during the rest of the service. Not that church was necessarily a place to relax, but it was as if they had all gasped collectively and then did not let the air out.
And it was freezing, at least it was to Faith, and she was sorry she hadn't worn her new winter coat. She had noticed last winter that New Englanders seemed to take some sort of perverse pride in how long they could go before they turned on the heat and, having done so, how
low they set their thermostats. It was a common cocktail party conversational gambit, “Turned the heat on yet?” She fully expected to hear someone tell her one of these days that they had gone until January. Now she sat and shivered her way through the service, finding it hard to pay attention to even Tom's sermon. She felt out of sorts, as if she was coming down with the flu, but it was a flu of the mind, of the soul, and she didn't doubt that she shared it with most of the people in the church. When Tom mentioned the time of Patricia's funeral the next day, several handkerchiefs came out, and despite the atrocious weather, few lingered to talk to their friends at coffee hour. For once, no one wanted to exchange news. All the news was bad.
low they set their thermostats. It was a common cocktail party conversational gambit, “Turned the heat on yet?” She fully expected to hear someone tell her one of these days that they had gone until January. Now she sat and shivered her way through the service, finding it hard to pay attention to even Tom's sermon. She felt out of sorts, as if she was coming down with the flu, but it was a flu of the mind, of the soul, and she didn't doubt that she shared it with most of the people in the church. When Tom mentioned the time of Patricia's funeral the next day, several handkerchiefs came out, and despite the atrocious weather, few lingered to talk to their friends at coffee hour. For once, no one wanted to exchange news. All the news was bad.
The Svensons' usual spot, six rows back and to the right, had been conspicuously empty. Dave had been arraigned late on Saturday at the District Court and taken to the Billerica House of Correction. His parents were working to arrange bail and meanwhile one or the other of them tried to be at his side.
The Moores' pew had been empty also. Tom found himself staring at the space in the middle of the second row where Patricia always sat, her face turned upward in expectation. It was hard to get through the sermon.
By Monday the rain had stopped, but the cold had settled in. There had been a killing frost during the night that left all the remaining flowers blackened stalks. It was hard to believe that only two weeks ago they had gathered in the same cemetery in light clothing surrounded by lush gold and scarlet leaves. Faith felt vaguely thankful to whatever meteorological quirk had ordained the change. It was all in keeping. Nature was mourning, too, with providentially gray skies blocking out the sun.
The church had been filled and afterward a large
crowd gathered around the open grave. Patricia had known so many people, and not just from Aleford. Faith saw John Dunne's mountainous form looming over the crowd. He was wearing a well-cut black topcoat and she was surprised to see how sad he looked. She assumed cops weren't supposed to show their emotions. Charley was different. He had known Patricia since his first day in Aleford and Faith could understand why he was so upset, but Dunne?
crowd gathered around the open grave. Patricia had known so many people, and not just from Aleford. Faith saw John Dunne's mountainous form looming over the crowd. He was wearing a well-cut black topcoat and she was surprised to see how sad he looked. She assumed cops weren't supposed to show their emotions. Charley was different. He had known Patricia since his first day in Aleford and Faith could understand why he was so upset, but Dunne?
In fact John Dunne was thinking of Dave Svenson. Dunne was remembering how startled the boy had been the day of Cindy's funeral when he came upon him on the ridge above the cemetery. He knew how Dave felt about Patricia. It had come out during the questioning about Cindy the first time. Dunne shook his head. The whole thing stank. He looked over at Charley and then at Faith. It never feels good to have one murder follow another and in this case it had felt worse than usual. Patricia was a close friend of Charley's and he had taken it hard, felt responsible. And maybe heâand Dunne himselfâwere.
Rob Moore had read “A slumber did my spirit seal” at the church service and said a few words about his mother. He was remarkably composed, but Faith noticed when he went to sit down between Jenny and his father, neither of whom were able to speak, he took their hands in a viselike grip. She wondered when he would break down and let some of the pain he was feeling out. Some of the Moores' friends had read things, Tom spoke, and they sang Patricia's favorite hymn, “For the Beauty of the Earth.”
Now at the grave, Faith heard her husband reciting the words for the burial of the dead in a voice filled with sorrow. She seemed to be hearing everything from far away as though she were standing in a tunnel, then certain
phrases would leap out assuming sudden clarity: “Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts, shut not thy merciful ears to our prayer.” What secrets had been in Patricia's heart, the hearts around her?
phrases would leap out assuming sudden clarity: “Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts, shut not thy merciful ears to our prayer.” What secrets had been in Patricia's heart, the hearts around her?
Tom's voice had momentarily lost its ceremonial tone and sounded almost conversational.
“My friends, I want to pause at this time so that we may have a moment of private prayer, but before we do I want to say good-bye to Patricia with a few more lines of her favorite Wordsworthâlines that remind me of her, her deep love of family, friends, growing things, and all this world can offer.”
It was the last section of “Tintern Abbey” and when he reached the final lines,
“Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.”
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.”
There were tears.
After the silence, a long one in the cold grayness, they threw the clods of earth on the coffin, which so impossibly held the body of the woman most of them had seen a few days ago busily preparing for the church fair or buying groceries at the Shop and Save or answering the hotline at the drug crisis center.
They listened to Tom as he repeated the phrases that were so familiar, but to which no one ever became accustomedâ“earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust ⦔
Then it was “Our Father” and they turned away quickly, reluctant to stay, whether from cold or disbelief, Faith couldn't tell. She looked up and just as the
trees had so rapidly dropped their leaves, the cemetery was empty of its mourners.
trees had so rapidly dropped their leaves, the cemetery was empty of its mourners.
The Moores were the first to go. Jenny had started to scream when she saw the earth hit the coffin and her father picked her up in his arms and took her to the car. Rob followed at the end of the service with slow steps, unwilling to let go of even that much of his mother that still remained on earth.
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