The Body in the Birches (9 page)

The uncharacteristic hot weather had meant adults who seldom braved the water were diving from the rocks and long dock. The tide was high, perfect timing. The Point's children had always gone in and several teenagers had been appointed to keep an eye on the smaller swimmers. Sophie realized that one of them, standing next to Daisy, must be Amy Fairchild. She looked like her mother—the same thick pale butterscotch hair and blue eyes. Sophie was glad Daisy had found a friend. When the quarrel broke out between Simon and Sylvia at the parade, she had been down the street, but Daisy had been right there, and it must have been both embarrassing and frightening. At least that's how Sophie would have reacted at that age. Not that her own mother would ever have behaved this way in public. Whatever scenes Babs made, and she did, were strictly behind closed doors.

The brouhaha had been much discussed at the picnic, though away from the participants. Apparently Sylvia had been planning to read the Declaration of Independence herself and had accused Simon of stealing not just the idea, but also the copy, which she had left in the living room. Rory had pried his mother away before she made good on her threat to punch Simon in the nose. They were at opposite ends of the beach now, Simon surrounded by his
family, Sylvia mingling with people from the other houses. It occurred to Sophie that she had never seen Simon and Deirdre with neighbors. They kept to The Birches, Simon's trophy sailboat—the
Fortuna
—and Blue Hill. He didn't have sailing buddies—he could manage the boat alone—and Deirdre didn't go “yard saling” and “antiquing” the way Sylvia did with other summer people. None of them had friends among what Simon called “the Native Population,” unlike Paul and Priscilla, who had always been going to a local couple's golden anniversary party or someone's family reunion picnic on the Causeway Beach, the largest on Sanpere. Sophie had tagged along to the Hamiltons' reunion with them one summer and there had been kin from as far away as China. The roots of the island's first settlers after the Abenakis had spread far and wide.

She was feeling a bit sick, and it wasn't the heat nor the food—she'd managed two lobsters. It was the ongoing spectacle that was her own perverse family reunion. If today's performances continued, as she suspected they would, she'd do a Huck Finn herself, but forgo the raft and light out for the Territory. Her mother would either have to come back or agree that their branch had been duly represented by Sophie's presence for, what—a few days more? Definitely a week, tops.

The long afternoon light made the scene in front of her look dramatic. There had already been too much drama, Sophie thought. She decided to get something cold to drink from one of the coolers and join one of the groups. One of the ones with whom she shared no blood ties whatsoever.

Pix Miller came over to where Ursula and Faith were sitting. Ursula had given in and allowed Faith to get a beach chair for her instead of perching on a rock. Faith was wishing she'd fetched one for herself as well. The Rowes and Millers were big on sticking to their venerable customs, eschewing any seat not created by nature,
but this was one Faith thought she could break—before she broke something else.

“It's been a little too warm, but another wonderful Fourth,” Ursula said.

“And it's not over yet. We still have the fireworks,” Pix agreed. “We'll need to take two cars. Gert said she was heading home soon to go with her family, since Bev doesn't feel like going. But we'll need room for Ben, or you will, Faith. You are going, aren't you? It's going to be a clear night. No fog like the last few years.”

“Tom said that there's no point in my staying by the phone. Marian is even making them go to Norwell's fireworks. She thinks everyone is making a big to-do out of nothing. I think Dick's worried she'll walk out.”

Ursula took Faith's hand. Twice in one day! This was highly emotional behavior for her.

“She knows what she has to face, and it was bad luck that it had to happen on a holiday. She's right to send them off. What she needs now is rest and no worries. How did Tom's sister and brothers take the news?”

“She won't let anyone get in touch with them until Betsey and Robert are back from Europe next week.”

Ursula said, “They'll be upset, but she's right. Why spoil their vacations when they can't do anything unless one of them has suddenly become a cardiologist?”

“Mother!” Pix looked horrified. “If I thought that's what you'd do, I would never go farther than the Boston Common.”

Faith agreed with her friend and decided to do her own hand patting. “Don't worry, I'd get in touch with you.”

Ursula had the last word, as usual. “And how would you know, my dear? The good reverend would never divulge anything unless I told him he could.”

Faith decided to change the subject. “When are Arnie and Claire coming?”

Pix's brother, Arnold Rowe, was an orthopedic surgeon. He
and his wife lived in New Mexico. They didn't have any children. Both of them loved the island and managed to spend several weeks each summer at The Pines.

“I'm supposed to have his boat in the water a week from today, so I imagine they'll come the night before. That reminds me I'd better call Billings.”

“I can do that, Mother, and I'd think Arnie could make arrangements with the boatyard himself.” Pix adored her brother, but she had told Faith often that distance had made him into a crown prince, and his visits elicited behavior from both her mother and Gert Prescott that had never been bestowed on Pix herself, who lived year-round in both places almost at her mother's doorstep.

The Millers' golden retrievers, Henry and Arthur—they had sadly lost Dustin, or Dusty, in January—arrived and happily shook a combination of salt water and sand over everyone. It went with the day but did cause the group to decide to go back to the house and get ready for the trip into Granville and the evening's pyrotechnics.

Faith loved fireworks, especially the ones here, shot high into the sky from one of the tiny islands—little more than a sandbar at high tide—in Granville's harbor. The fish pier was crowded, and as she made her way to her favorite spot off to one side near the end, she kept stopping and getting stopped. It didn't feel as though they had been on Sanpere all that long, although Ben had been a toddler their first summer, but events of all sorts had woven them into the basic fabric of the island.

She missed Tom. That was partly why she wasn't feeling as excited as usual. The other part was the fact that both kids had deserted her. Oh, they asked first. Ben wanted to watch with Tyler and other friends. He also asked if he could spend the night at the Hamiltons'. Tyler and he didn't have to work the breakfast shift, and Mandy would pick them up for the lunch one. Faith had said
yes. He was fifteen, after all, and she clearly recalled how little time she'd spent with her own parents at that age. Still, agreeing had been hard. She'd been tempted to ask him to wait and watch some of the show with Amy and her—or they could go to where he would be watching up on Church Street, high above the harbor. But she'd smiled and refrained from hugging him in public. “Love you, have fun.” She'd been rewarded, “Thanks, Mom. Love you too.”

And then Amy had come running up with her friend Daisy from The Birches, asking if she could watch the fireworks from the deck behind the new, slightly upscale Granville restaurant overlooking the water. “Daisy's mom knows the people who own it. You could come, too.”

But somehow it didn't feel right. She didn't know the new owners of the restaurant—or Daisy's family except by sight. She'd given her daughter a hug—still allowed—and sent her off, too. After the fireworks, the restaurant was serving them all desserts and Amy wanted to stay for it. Daisy's mother would drop her off at The Pines.

The harbor was filled with boats—the preferred way of viewing for many, and that was where the Millers were with Ursula, as well. Faith was sorry now that she had refused that invitation. She'd thought she'd be with the kids, and there wasn't room for all of them. Chris Knight and his wife, Kathy, had invited her to join them on their boat as well. Maybe she'd do this sort of thing with Tom next year as their children, make that teens, would now be making their own plans for the foreseeable future. The Knights were known for their shipboard cuisine and often tied on to another boat for a truly movable feast.

It was dead low tide and kids were running on the shore of the cove next to the pier with sparklers and occasionally a brilliant shower of something larger soared up.

The first rocket hit the sky, exploding into a huge golden chrysanthemum eliciting the traditional involuntary “aaah” from
the crowd before the jewel-like droplets sank into the night water. And so it continued. Bursts of color, some sizzling noisily in random directions high overhead and the aftermath—loud bangs. Strobes so bright you could make out Isle au Haut, in the distance, six miles away. Faith watched the next aerial display—one of the ones that looked liked a succession of neon galaxies—and suddenly decided she wanted to go home. She wanted to give Tom a call. She needed to talk to him, hear his voice. She slipped through the mass of people who were looking skyward, enjoying the man-made stars invented by the Chinese so many centuries ago.

“Leaving before the grand finale?” It was Steve Johnson, the harbormaster. He was definitely a candidate for one of those calendars featuring the hotties of various occupations. During the long bleak Aleford winters, especially on bad hair days, Faith cheered herself up thinking back to his ego-boosting flirting. “I thought we could take a moonlit swim in the quarry over on Green Island.”

“And end up a Popsicle,” Faith said, turning to give his wife, Roberta, who was laughing, a hug. She hadn't seen her yet this summer.

Promising dinner soon with the Johnsons, she managed to get back to her car unnoticed by any more friends.

Back at Ursula's she reached Tom and was glad she'd called. He was feeling the same need to talk, even though there still wasn't any news. Despite Marian's urging, neither he nor Dick had felt like going to the town's celebration. They were watching TV, having picked up subs, also, confusingly, called “grinders” in New England. (After she'd moved to Aleford as a bride, Faith had been extremely puzzled by her husband's suggestion, “How about a grinder?” coyly parrying, “Don't you mean a quickie, sweetheart?”)

There was still no one at The Pines when she finished her conversation. After trying to read, Faith decided to take a walk. She grabbed a flashlight and set out through the birch grove. There was a way to get to the beach at the other side.

The air was refreshing now and she could hear faint echoes
of the island fireworks as well as those from the towns across the Reach. It was a beautiful night and she was feeling reassured about Marian. All would be well.

Sophie had set out for the Granville fireworks on her own before any of the family could ask her for a ride. Uncle Paul was going with the neighbors he and Priscilla had always joined, a tradition she hoped was bringing him some comfort—and a break. She'd found a spot away from the thickest part of the crowd and let out the breath she seemed to have been holding all day. She loved fireworks.

A voice shattered her calm reverie. “I love fireworks. We always go out to Tybee Island for the Fourth. Get a dozen or so of Lucile's fish po' boys from Sting Ray's and eat on a big ole blanket spread out on the beach. You can see the pier where they set them off pretty much from anywhere. Got to watch the tide, though.”

Now what was going on? Sophie thought. Had Will been swigging some Southern Comfort? This new, gentler version of the man was almost as disconcerting as his other persona.

“Um.” She searched for a reply. “I love fireworks, too. Especially here. But all the fish sandwiches they were selling for the scholarship fund are long gone I'm afraid.”

Will was wearing what seemed to be his uniform—gimme cap, faded jeans, and well-laundered tee shirts with the logos obscured. Nothing had come from Brooks, J.Crew, or any sort of Republic. His shirt looked soft, and Sophie had a sudden impulse to touch it, feel it between her fingers. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her crop pants—after this morning's encounter she'd deliberately avoided shorts all day.

The show started with a shower of gold, and for the next fifteen minutes, Sophie stood transfixed, staring into the heavens and giving into the cries of delight she'd planned to suppress. The crowd pressed in and she was aware how close she was to Will. At
one point his hand brushed across hers, lingering briefly, and she felt something akin to what was happening in the sky.

Except this is so not happening, she told herself.

And it wasn't.

“See you,” he said just before the grand finale was over, giving her a cocky grin as he walked away.

Sophie didn't turn around until she was sure he was out of sight and then she made her way back to her car, hoping she wouldn't bump into him—or anyone else from The Pines.

The house was empty and Sophie decided to walk down to the beach, the end away from the boathouse. She was restless—and felt like smashing something, preferably something in Will Tarkington's face.

“She's dead.”

The words reached Faith and she quickened her steps, running down the path through the thick stand of birches that had grown up over the years between Ursula's house and the Proctor one. Her flashlight bounced off the slender white trunks, sending splinters of light across the scene in front of her. The sky was pitch-dark with no hint of the Independence Day fireworks display that had filled it an hour earlier.

One figure prone on the ground; another crouched low over it. Faith trained the beam on them. One figure very still; the other almost motionless, her hands at the body's throat.