The Body in the Wardrobe (19 page)

And now her phone was ringing. Mother? But they had just spoken Tuesday. Babs and Ed were leaving Mustique early to visit “dear, dear friends” with a “sweet little place with twelve bedrooms” on Virgin Gorda. Reassured that Sophie had indeed received the sarongs for Christmas, Babs had been in a rush. They'd agreed to talk once next week.

“Hello?”

“Sophie, it's Randy. I'm afraid I have some very bad news. Ruth Stafford is dead. She killed herself last night.”

“And then he started crying. Oh, Faith, it broke my heart even more. Randy is a happy-go-lucky guy. I never thought he would be the type to break down like this—he couldn't talk. Carlene took the phone and told me what had happened.” Sophie's words were coming fast. Faith murmured, “I'm so sorry!” and Sophie barely paused.

“They'd come in around four this morning and were on their way to bed when they saw the answering machine was beeping. Carlene said they were about to ignore it, but she knew she wouldn't sleep—she suffers from an ‘overabundance of curiosity,' her words. The message was from Ruth and had been left at midnight. Her voice was slurred and she told them to have a happy New Year and she'd see them in heaven. They thought she might just be drunk, but when she didn't answer her phone, Randy decided he'd better go over and check on her. Carlene went with him. The door to the building was wide open, people were still partying, and her apartment door was unlocked. She was on the couch, an empty bottle of vodka and an empty pill container on the floor next to her. They called nine-one-one and Randy started CPR. They couldn't get a pulse. Carlene said it seemed like only
seconds before the ambulance was there and the EMTs. At the hospital the ER doctor said she had probably been dead for some hours. That if she had gotten help right away there was a slim chance she would have made it, but the amount of alcohol she'd drunk swiftly acted to increase the effect of the Ambien—that's what she took. Sleeping pills!”

Faith said how sorry she was once more, but Sophie's words continued to spill out. “I just can't believe it! I saw her Christmas Day. She was so happy! So alive.” She started to sob. Until now she hadn't been able to cry, but relating what had happened unleashed her emotions.

Will had gone to the hospital to be with Randy. They were trying to reach Ruth's family in Illinois. Carlene had gone home.

“I wish I could be with you,” Faith said. “Suicide, especially when it's someone so young, is the death with no answers. We can't know what was going through Ruth's mind. Sadly, too, the gaiety you saw at Christmas is often a signal that the person who is suffering from depression is planning to end her or his life. A kind of manic episode.”

“But she didn't seem depressed. Not in the time I knew her.” Sophie gulped back her tears. “But then I really hadn't spent much time with her.”

Faith said, “No guilt, Sophie. It's horrible, but this didn't happen because you didn't spend enough time with Ruth.”

“She had just started a new relationship. She was so happy, she told me. And it had to have been someone in Savannah or nearby.”

“Someone who may have ended things recently, which might have been enough to send her into a tailspin. The new year may not have looked very bright.”

The call waiting beeped and Sophie said, “It's Will. I'll talk to you later.”

“Any time. I love you, Sophie.”

“Love you too—and thank you. I didn't know who else to call.”

“I'm glad you did. Take the call and let me know if there's anything I can do. If Amy were better, I'd fly down right away.”

Sophie pressed the key on her phone and Will said, “How are you doing, honey? I'll be home soon. We'll try to get some sleep, and then everyone is gathering for New Year's dinner out at Bells Mills as planned. That poor young woman. When Randy said he was concerned about her, he was obviously picking up on things others missed. Maybe some of the people she ran with did, too. She was a runner, right? That's what I've been hearing.”

“She was,” Sophie said, using the past tense with reluctance. “Did she leave a note? Have you reached her family?”

“No note, but the doctor said that's not unusual. Randy left word with her parents to give him a call. He'll let us know when he's spoken to them. I have to stop at the office and get the papers she filled out when she applied for the job. The only contact information in her purse was for her parents. There may be someone else.”

“I'm all dressed. I'll run over. You won't know where to look anyway. Come home and get some sleep.”

“I am so sorry, darling. I know how much you liked Ruth.”

Sophie started to tear up again. “I'll miss her very much. We were just getting to know each other.”

Faith hung up the phone and tried to turn her thoughts to the day ahead, but it was impossible. She did wish she could be with Sophie. It was obviously her first experience with the death of someone her own age, a friend, and the fact that it was suicide made it so much harder.

The last week had seen Amy improve to the point where Dr. Kane said she could return to school next Monday, starting with a half day the first week. Ben was leaving for France tomorrow evening, and Amy seemed to have accepted all their reassurances, although Faith suspected it was Daisy who had
provided the most comfort. She'd overheard the girl tell Amy during one of their Skype sessions that Ben had greater odds of getting run over by a bus, particularly in Boston, where she understood they drove like lunatics. She'd added that since the French town was twinned with Aleford, Amy should just think of him as being home except with different food and “kids who drink wine like when they're ten.” Amy had said “Yuck” and that she didn't think Ben would be drinking much wine because he was in training pretty much all year round with soccer and basketball.

Some years ago one of First Parish's parishioners had come up with the idea of a January 1 “First Day,” inspired by Boston's First Night on New Year's Eve where the entire city became one large celebration—concerts of all sorts, art exhibits, dance, a parade, and fireworks over the harbor. First Day was in a more minor key, but the parish hall had been transformed by volunteers into a festive cabaret, and starting at two o'clock there would be a succession of local talent starting with a country music band called The Grits. Everyone signed up to bring finger food for the buffet. There were nonalcoholic hot and cold drinks.

Faith supplied a seasonal claret cup, a lovely, slightly fruity punch with red wine as a base to which Port, cassis, Grand Marnier, lemon juice, and club soda for fizz were added. (See
recipe
.) It was a Sibley family recipe that she had been given as a sacred trust from her father's sister, Aunt Chat, with instructions to be liberal with the Port. First Parish had two large punch bowls—this was New England, after all, where punch was a staple for celebrations—and an army of punch cups. Faith froze a small block of ice in a decorative French ice cream mold to keep the punch chilled and floated thin slices of navel oranges on top of the deep crimson brew. Eating the oranges that had been soaking in the punch after it was gone was one of her favorite treats.

Though Amy wasn't up to attending First Day, Faith felt
comfortable leaving her. She would be next door, give or take a few tombstones to wend around. The parish hall doors opened promptly at two when the band launched into their version of “Auld Lang Syne,” starting with a banjo solo. While First Parish sponsored it, the event was open to the entire town. In no time, Faith was getting one of the reserve containers she'd brought to replenish the claret cup.

Pix came over for a cup, smiling mischievously. “I have a very nice New Year's gift for you. Call me when you get home, or better yet I'll come over. I also have something for Ben to take on his trip.”

“Tell me!” Faith said. She had never been much for deferred gratification.

“Nope. Too juicy, and someone might overhear me.”

Now Faith
really
wanted to know. “Okay. I'm on duty until four. Ben is at a last-minute meeting about the trip, and he'll be home around then, too. Can't you give me a little hint?”

“It will make Amy happy, too, although you won't be able to give her the particulars.”

She gave Faith her empty cup to stash under the table with the other dirty ones. At this rate, Faith thought, she'd better run a load in the dishwasher right away. She was about to do so when a woman she vaguely recognized from the D.A.R. luncheon came over and said, “I had expected a wake here at First Parish, what with this being your husband's last First Day here.” She gave a little laugh. “I think that's an oxymoron, but you know what I mean.”

Unfortunately Faith did. Pix was looking puzzled and then the color drained from her face. “Faith, why would this be Tom's last First Day?”

The woman answered before Faith could. “Oh, me and my big mouth. He's going to announce it today, right?” She turned toward Pix. “I have a friend in the church on the South Shore where the Fairchilds are going. She's very excited.”

“Please,” Faith said anxiously, “I'd appreciate it if this went no further. Nothing has been decided, and there will definitely not be any kind of announcement today.”
Or maybe ever
. The look on Pix's face was heartbreaking and she was tempted to grab Tom to see it.

The woman headed for the dessert table and Pix said, “It's true, isn't it? Sam and I have often thought Tom would outgrow us and want to move on.” There was a catch in her throat as she said, “We've been lucky to have him, and you, this long.”

Faith came around to the front of the table and hugged Pix hard. “Nothing, I repeat
nothing,
has been decided. Tom is going to be a guest preacher this month and then we'll see. The kids don't know any of this.
Nobody
was supposed to.”

Pix managed a thin smile. “And you've lived here how long?”

She was right. Keeping a secret in Aleford, or any other small New England town, was like herding cats.

“See you later at the house,” Faith said. “We'll talk more.” She resumed her claret cup duties, pausing to drink one herself.

By four o'clock, Faith was exhausted, mentally and physically. She hadn't been sleeping well, one ear cocked to hear Amy, and she had also admitted to herself that she was a bit worried about Ben's trip. Not by the possibility of a terrorist attack, but simply by the notion of having her son an ocean away. It wasn't like going to camp.

She turned the punch ladle over to the parishioner who came to relieve her and put one more load of cups in the dishwasher before heading out. She stopped to give Tom a kiss, letting him know she was leaving. She did not tell him about the grapevine spreading its tendrils his way. He was having fun, and there was nothing he could do about it now. A bluegrass group was up now, playing a Fairchild favorite: “Roses Are Blooming.” Faith left humming the lyric, “Come back to me, darling, and never more roam.”

At the parsonage, Amy was watching one of her favorite Miyazaki DVDs,
My Neighbor Totoro,
and Ben wasn't back yet. Tom would have been grazing on the First Day food—Faith had observed this habit among other clergy. Their hours were irregular and they all seemed to have a talent for eating standing up and at any opportunity. She'd made a version of Hoppin' John for the kids and herself for supper, using the traditional black-eyed peas and rice, but with garlic chicken sausages instead of bacon or ham hocks.

Sophie would be out at Bells Mills sitting down to the New Year's dish and other traditional Southern fare about now. Faith doubted she, or the others, would have much appetite. There had been no word, so she assumed there was no further information about why Ruth had chosen to end her short life.

Pix knocked at the door, and Faith quickly waved her in. Worrying about the rumor that would certainly be all over town had not pushed Pix's tantalizing “gift” from Faith's mind. She was eager for her friend to spill the beans—and not the Hoppin' John kind.

“Coffee?” Faith asked. She'd learned early on as a suburban bride that this was the first question to ask anyone walking in your door.

“Thanks, but no. I had a cup of tea with Mother when I dropped her off at her house. Faith, let me tell you: keeping my mouth shut was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Her eagle eye was on me from the moment she got into the car until I left. She has always had an uncanny gift for knowing when I'm keeping something from her—or lying.”

“I'm sorry,” Faith said, also giving a passing thought to the impossibility of Pix telling a lie. Even a polite white one left her friend's face beet red. “So, what is this ‘gift' you have for me? Quick. Ben will be home soon and the DVD Amy is watching is almost over.”

“Mary Lou, one of the women in my yoga class, is Canadian.”

So far, nothing special, Faith thought, although she loved Canadians. They were exceptionally nice, and their food was
great, too. Even
poutine
—cheese curds and French fries, you had to give someone credit for imagination. She nodded at Pix, hoping to speed her up.

“Her son manages a ski resort in Quebec. They have all sorts of special contests during high season—ski races, fun obstacle courses—and one couple in particular was cleaning up the prizes, including the ‘Significant Others Slalom.' The resort took photos, and when the manager heard that the couple was from Aleford, Massachusetts, he texted one to his mother.”

“Still not getting this,” Faith said, looking out the window for Ben. Aleford was big on winter sports. It went with the territory. Highly likely that a local couple would be the champion skiers.

“Oh, you will.” Pix was grinning. “Mary Lou immediately corrected the names of the Aleford winners sent by her son. They'd checked in for the week between Christmas and New Year's as ‘Mr. and Mrs. Anthony Frazer.' Amy's principal's significant pal was none other than his boss, Aleford's superintendent!”

Now Faith got it—and it was a gift! The superintendent wasn't married; the principal was. How could they have been so stupid?

“Mary Lou's son let them know what his mother had revealed, because he was pretty steamed that he'd posted a fake name on the Web site already. Maybe he even took the trophies back. Anyway, the pair checked out immediately. Looks like you have some leverage here to get Amy moved to the other middle school.”