The Body in the Bonfire (3 page)

“I can understand that,” Tom said. “I'm just worried.”

“So am I, but the best solution at the moment
seems to be the one Daryl has come up with, and I feel I have to go through with it. If I can't turn anything up, he tells Harcourt. That's the deal. This has been going on for months, so a few more weeks won't matter that much.”

Tom pulled her close. “I hope you're right.”

“So do I,” Faith said, wishing he hadn't said those particular words. She touched the wooden coffee table—surreptitiously. After all, she was a minister's wife.

As they were going up the stairs to bed, Faith stopped and said, “I didn't tell you what finally convinced Patsy to do what Daryl wanted.” She repeated his words, which Patsy had quoted to her at lunch. “‘Mrs. Avery, you know as well as I do if I go to the headmaster or the police, everyone will say and do all the “right” things, but it will still be my fault. It will still be, like, none of this would have happened if you hadn't been here in the first place, boy.'”

 

Patsy and Daryl worked quickly. The next afternoon, Faith received a phone call from the headmaster himself.

“I can't tell you how delighted we are that you've agreed to be part of our Project Term. My wife and I were at the Davidson wedding you catered last summer and it was the best meal we had all year.”

“Thank you,” Faith said. It
had
been a great meal and a great wedding—a virtually unlimited
budget for an only daughter. “I'm looking forward to working with your students.” This sounded stilted, but she didn't know what else to say. She couldn't very well come out with “Wild horses wouldn't drag me into a roomful of teenage boys, sharp cooking utensils, and a hot stove, except I have to investigate a hate crime on your campus.”

“I wonder if you and your husband might be free tomorrow evening for our weekly faculty sherry hour? I had the pleasure of meeting the Reverend Fairchild a number of years ago when he led one of our chapel services. The faculty and students take it in turn now under my supervision. If you could make it, it would give you a chance to meet all of us and learn a bit more about our Project Term and the idea behind it.”

“I would like nothing better,” Faith said sincerely, “and if Tom is free, I'm sure he would be happy to attend also.” She was still sounding the way she had when she'd talked to her headmistress, lo these many years ago, at her own private school in Manhattan. She pictured herself in her uniform, standing before that large mahogany desk, head slightly lowered, explaining once again why she was perpetually tardy and Hope, her sister, one year younger and living in the same apartment, attending the same school, was not. The students at Mansfield wore uniforms, too; they'd donned them for the parade. The idea was to erase distinctions—or perhaps
highlight them. There was no mistaking the class where they belonged.

Harcourt was apologizing for the measly honorarium given to Project Term leaders. Faith hadn't realized there was any money involved, but he was right. It was a “mere token of appreciation.” She could kiss the Kate Spade bag she'd been eyeing in Spade's Newbury Street boutique good-bye—for the moment.

She found herself in the absurd position of saying words to the effect that money didn't matter. To bring enlightenment to a young mind was reward enough.

It was high school all over again, and she hoped she'd snap out of it fast.

“We'll look forward to seeing you tomorrow, then, about five o'clock? Or—I've just had a sudden thought—if you could come by earlier, my assistant, Ms. Reed, could show you around a bit—where you'll be teaching. But this might not be convenient for your husband.”

“I'm sure if he can't get away, he wouldn't mind meeting me later, and I would like to get to know the campus better before I start next week.” Much better, she thought to herself.

“Excellent! Then why don't you meet Connie—Ms. Reed, that is—at Sutton Hall, our main offices, at three-thirty. You can't miss it. It's a large white building with pillars at the end of the central drive on the right-hand side. The sherry hour is at my house, which is across campus. Perhaps you could
meet your husband at Sutton—it's easier to locate—and then Connie will bring you both over.”

The micromanagement was starting to get to Faith. She felt more than competent to find both places, but she murmured a thank-you, then a good-bye, and hung up the phone. Now all she had to do was come up with some ideas for Cooking for Idiots. This wasn't going to be a coulibiac of salmon or warm chèvre and frisée crowd. But she was damned if she was going to teach them how to make pizza. They already knew how to use a phone.

 

Hearing a knock at her kitchen door the following morning, Faith looked out to see who it was. No one in Aleford used the front door unless delivering bad news or invited for dinner. It was Pix. Faith quickly got up from the table where she'd been going through her recipe notebooks and cookbook collection in preparation for next week's classes to let her in.

“I was just about to knock on
your
door,” she said. Talking to Pix about what to do with these teenagers had been paramount in her thoughts ever since she had agreed to the Mansfield gig. With Mark a senior in college, Samantha a sophomore, and Danny a high school freshman, Pix was a veteran. In any case, since Faith's arrival in Aleford, Pix had been her main source for advice about living in New England, raising children, and life in general.

“I thought you might like to go for a walk. It's beautiful out,” Pix said, stepping into the room, which Faith had remodeled before the kids were born, jettisoning the avocado fridge and range—daring in their day—for Sub-Zero and Viking. She also had added counter space and cabinets. From the paucity of both, she imagined previous tenants as subsisting on tea and toast, with the occasional casserole dropped off by one of the faithful. She'd been about to offer tea and toast—Darjeeling and cinnamon—when Pix had made her suggestion.

Faith had been enjoying the January sunshine as she worked, but the idea of actually going out into it had certainly not occurred to her. For one thing, it meant putting on many layers of clothing. For another, it meant cap hair. But there was a plaintive note in Pix's voice, quite unlike her usual positive timbre.

“Sure, just let me throw a few pounds of down on and I'll be ready. Where shall we go?”

“I don't care. Not the center, though. How about Miller's Woods?”

Not the center. As she got her things from the hall closet, Faith wondered about Pix's reason for avoiding downtown Aleford. It could simply mean that Pix wanted to enjoy the beauty of nature. Miller's Woods, once owned by some ancestor of Pix's husband, Sam, and now conservation land, was a lovely spot. But her pointed elimination of the center could also mean she didn't want to see anyone, and Pix, whose family had also
been here forever, couldn't walk the block from the library to Aleford Photo without running into a dozen acquaintances, all of whom had to engage her in conversation, of course.

Whatever it is, I'll know soon, Faith reflected.

And she did. Pix turned the key in the ignition of her Land Rover and it was like popping a cork from a bottle.

“I'm very worried about Danny and have no idea what to do. I'm almost at my wit's end.”

Pix was coming to
her
for advice. As soon as the universe stopped whirling about, Faith sat up straight and gathered her own not-inconsiderable wits about her. “Tell me about it,” she said.

“Sam isn't taking it seriously at all, of course.”

“Of course,” Faith murmured sympathetically. “What do fathers know.” She was on sure ground here.

“Exactly. And I know Danny. I know something's wrong. He had a rocky start to the year, but all ninth graders do, although Mark and Samantha seemed to make the transition with no trouble. But it isn't fair to compare the three. They're so completely different.”

“Like all families.” Again the terra was firma. Faith continued: “I remember that Danny missed his buddy from middle school. Brian?”

“Yes, and he still misses him. For some reason, Brian's parents sent him to Mansfield as a day student, and Danny hasn't found a friend or group of friends to make up for Brian. Why you'd
pay the outrageous amount of money it costs to send a child to private school when we have such an excellent high school, I cannot fathom, but it's none of my business what the Perkins family does.”

“Only it would be a whole lot better for Danny if Brian went to Aleford High, too.”

Pix pulled into the Miller's Woods parking area with a decisive turn of the wheel and stopped the car. “It most certainly would.”

They set off down the path and Faith tried to find out what exactly Danny was doing to upset Pix this way. Danny had inherited the post of Fairchild baby-sitter from his sister, Samantha, and he was a favorite at the parsonage.

“Has he been having trouble at school?”

Pix was taller than Faith and had a long, athletic stride. She'd uncharacteristically left the dogs at home, but she was still walking as if they were tugging at their leashes. Faith felt a bit like a puppy herself, quickening her pace to keep up and panting ever so slightly. She hoped her query would give pause, and it did. Pix stopped abruptly.

“School is hard for Danny. He has to push himself a little more than the other two did. It's not that he isn't bright, but he doesn't plan his time well and he sells himself short—doesn't seek out challenges.”

This sounded like a pretty tall order to Faith, but she kept her mouth shut. She had no idea
how she was going to behave when it was her turn. She doubted she'd be able to turn to Ben and Amy and say, “Pumping gas is a fine occupation, so long as it's work you love.”

“I know you've always had to work with him on his homework.”

“Oddly, that's less of a problem now. Mansfield has mandatory study hours for freshmen after the end of the class day, and Danny has been going over to see Brian, which means they sit and do homework together, then walk back home.”

“How else does Danny spend his time?” Faith was beginning to feel uneasy. An isolated, perhaps depressed kid. Did Pix suspect drugs or alcohol? Samantha and Mark
were
pretty hard acts to follow.

“He spends most of his time in his room, sitting at his computer. He told Sam he's teaching himself to program—and I did find a copy of
C for Dummies
on his desk—but I suspect he's playing games more than anything else. Stupid
Star Trek
games. So pointless and such a waste of time.”

A Yankee mortal sin. “Thou shalt not waste time.” Why it wasn't the eleventh commandment had been a much-debated theological mystery since Cotton Mather stepped in for Moses.

“But isn't this typical teenage behavior? Wasting time, I mean. When I was his age, I used to talk on the phone endlessly, driving my mother crazy. This sounds like the equivalent.”

“I suppose you're right. He keeps telling me
these games are educational. Something called Riven is supposed to develop logic and problem-solving skills. He read this to me from an article—from a computer magazine, of course. That's all he reads. And manuals.”

“At least he's reading.”

“But not real books. Anything I suggest, or that he has to read for English, is automatically boring. That's his favorite word,
boring.
”

Faith again recalled feeling like this at Danny's age, and later, but it was clear that Pix had been the Pix she was at forty-something when she was in her teens, too.

Pix answered Faith's unspoken thought. Obviously, it had occurred to her, as well.

“I suppose I wasn't very normal.” Pix was shredding a dried-up milkweed pod with systematic intensity. “I didn't fight with my parents, and the wildest thing I did was go to Crane Beach with Sam and some other kids after our senior prom. Somebody had a bottle of Kahlúa we passed around.” She laughed, and Faith felt relieved. She'd been on the point of telling her friend to lighten up. Whatever the other two Miller children had been up to in high school, they'd handled—and kept to—themselves. Danny was going to be another story. Maybe because he was the youngest, the only one at home, and the focus of all his mother's attention now. Maybe just because he was Danny.

Pix's smile faded with the reminiscence. “But I
haven't told you about last night. Why I'm behaving like this—and I'm sorry to be dumping it all on you.”

Faith gave her friend a hug. “Don't be ridiculous. What happened last night?”

“I went into Danny's room to put away his clean laundry. The door was closed. It always is—and I respect his privacy, so I knocked. He mumbled something, so I went in and was putting his things away.”

Faith made a mental note to start training Ben now where to put his clothes, and then she swiftly tuned back in to what Pix was saying.

“I looked around the room as I was leaving and something seemed different about it. I was almost out the door when I realized his stereo system was missing. You know, the one Sam's parents gave him for Christmas. He'd been hinting for months and he was over the moon when he got it. Normally, he'd have had his headphones on, I realized. I asked him where it was and he didn't answer me, just kept on typing at the computer. I went over to him and demanded he tell me where it was. First, he said it was none of my business; then he started yelling that he'd loaned it to a kid he knew. I told him to get it back immediately. Said that it was an expensive gift and should stay in his room. He stopped yelling and said very quietly that it was his and he could do what he wanted with it. Then he said, ‘Please get out of my room and stay out.'”

“Oh, Pix, scenes like that are horrible. I'm so sorry. But you know this is just typical teenage stuff and there must be a good explanation for the stereo.”