Body In The Belfry ff-1 Read online

  “Same thing," said Faith smugly as she started to turn her key in the ignition. " Good night, Detective."

  “ Wait a minute, Mrs. Fairchild. So what did the kids there at the mall tell you ? " he asked conversationally.

  Faith was momentarily taken aback by this sudden reversion to good cop and decided to tell Dunne the night's events, meager as they were.

  “Well, fine, Mrs. Fairchild. Now isn 't it time you went to bed?"

  “Absolutely. Good night again, Detective.”

  Dunne got in his car and pulled out behind her. Faith eased into her driveway and got out to open the garage doors. They weighed a ton and swung outward with surprising swiftness. She dodged them nimbly and waved a cheerful good-bye to the detective before driving in. He was still at the end of the drive when she got out to close them. Evidently he was going to wait until she was actually in the house and evidently he wasn 't going to help her with the damn doors. She slammed them shut and waved a little less cheerily.

  Once inside, Faith took a quick look at Benjamin and was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. It was a relief to know that the police weren't convinced that Dave did it. As she drifted off, her restless brain continued to send annoying messages. There was something they were all overlooking. Well, at least now she knew that Dunne knew it, too.

  The phone rang late the next afternoon. It had been a particularly frustrating day. Faith was tired after her late-night rambles and Benjamin did not seem to want to eat, sleep, play, or anything else. She grabbed the phone, well aware that whoever it was would hear his screams in the background and she could kiss away her Mrs. America nomination forever.

  “ Mrs. Fairchild ? “

  It was the girl from last night.

  “I'm, um, Trishia. The one you talked to about the dirt bike last night."

  “Yes, I recognized your voice. Did you have any luck ? " Faith asked eagerly.

  “ It was a guy from Byford, but he doesn't want to talk to the police. He said he would talk to you, though.”

  Faith was surprised. " Okay, how do I reach him ? "

  “He has supper at the Willow Tree Kitchen every night. It's on the way to Concord.”

  Faith had seen it, a weathered, gray-shingled roadhouse that looked like a cross between a speakeasy and a farmhouse. There were only a few tiny windows, but they had checkered Priscilla curtains.

  “ Yes, I know where it is, but how will I know him ? What 's his name ? "

  “Oh, don't worry, he knows you." Trishia laughed and hung up.

  The goldfish bowl again.

  It was four-thirty. Dinner in New England, Faith had learned, could be anytime from five to six o'clock, possibly six-thirty. The first time she gave a dinner party inviting the guests for eight, she discovered later from Pix that they had all eaten before, and assumed they had been asked for dessert and coffee. She shook her head. How would she ever be able to cope with all this ?

  Of course, she had to talk to this mysterious biker right away. An eyewitness alibi would strengthen Dave's case immeasurably. Besides, if she didn't, she would die of curiosity.

  She quickly called Pix, who was always happy to watch Benjamin, and Samantha was there, too. Somehow a rendezvous with a secret informer lost some of its excitement and romance if one arrived with a fussy baby on one's hip.

  Benjamin had thankfully stopped crying and was preparing himself for an hour of cuteness. Well, Pix would get to enjoy it this time, thought Faith, as she hastily stuffed enough baby things into the diaper bag for a month-long expedition to the Amazon. She left a vague note for Tom on the kitchen table about running an errand and was off.

  Willow Tree was packed to its low rafters with people stopping off for a quick one on the way home or, in some cases, it appeared they were home. Faith looked around the smoke-filled room for some hint of Mr. Motorcycle like a helmet, or a red carnation in his black leather lapel, but all she saw was a crowd intent on which letter Vanna White was going to turn over next or catching the eye of one of the waitresses who were hustling around at the speed of light. True to the Willow Tree's contradictory appearance, the waitresses balancing the oversized mugs of beer looked as if they would be more comfortable at Schrafft's with starched, pleated pastel handkerchiefs coyly peeking out of their uniform pockets. They were all of some indeterminate age and wore sensible shoes. Faith wouldn 't have been surprised to see one hand a tract to a customer along with his Budweiser.

  There was a smaller room off to the right, which was separated from the bar and booths of the main room by a low divider decorated with wildlife. Real wildlife. Stuffed, slightly worn, patched bobcats, snarls intact and repellent ; molting owls ; and a stag's head on the wall with just a few antler branches missing. Muskets and other weaponry festooned the rafters. A pair of old snowshoes were crossed above the door, presumably for the pacifists and animal rights advocates who might patronize the place, but somehow, looking around, Faith didn 't think there were too many of those. She gazed into the darker, smaller room as the more likely place for a clandestine meeting, if in fact that was what she was having. It appeared to be empty.

  Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around.

  “You get to like them after a while."

  “Get to like them ? "

  “ All the animals. They've been here forever. This little guy is my favorite," he continued, pointing to a dusty red squirrel, “ I guess it 's because I remember him from when I was a kid. He was the only one who looked like he wasn't going to come to life and rip your guts out.”

  It wasn't the way Faith imagined the dialogue would go, but it got them to the booth where he had been waiting and they sat down and looked at each other appraisingly.

  “By the way, I'm Scott Phelan and if I'm right and you're Mrs. Fairchild, then I'm going to have to start going to church more often.”

  Faith in turn was stunned. First of all, Scott was not a teenager. More like mid-twenties. And second, or rather first and foremost, he was gorgeous. Looking at him purely from a connoisseur 's point of view, of course, and nothing personal. He was dressed in a gray sweatshirt with a sleeveless blue jean jacket over it. His leather one was on the seat. If from the neck down, he was James Dean, the neck up could only be described as one of Ozzie and Harriet's kids, the boy next door. If you should get so lucky. Dark brown curls, big brown eyes with flecks of gold and a generous mouth curved at the moment in a slightly quizzical smile. What were they doing here anyway '?

  Faith reeled herself in and got down to business.”

  I understand from Trishia that you are the person who was riding down by the tracks last Friday. Do you remember seeing Dave ? "

  “Yeah, I saw him. Almost clipped him. Not too many people stroll there in the daytime." He waited for her to ask another question and nodded casually to one of the waitresses. Two of them arrived simultaneously.

  “Another of these," he pointed to his empty mug, "and a bowl of chili." Then he turned to Faith. "I recommend the chili, the chowder, and the beef stew. Starting in the spring, the lobster and clams are good too." He smiled. A girl could get dizzy from that smile. "And I ought to know. I eat here every night." He smiled at the waitress. She dropped her pencil.

  “I'll have a cup of chowder," Faith said.

  “ And to drink ? " asked the waitress.

  “It's whatever you want, or tonic if you don 't drink. But not fancy," Scott told her matter-of-factly. He had obviously brought too many women here who wanted Black Russians or Strawberry Daiquiris. There was nothing elaborate about Willow Tree and if they wanted the other stuff they could get a frappé at Friendly's and pour a nip in it, which is what they usually did.

  “A glass of white wine then, thank you," said Faith and smiled. Faith's smile was pretty dazzling, too, but the waitress was apparently looking elsewhere. She returned almost immediately with the drinks, the chili, the chowder, and a huge plate of baking soda biscuits the size of baseball gloves. Faith was momentarily diverted
by the horror of the wine, which came in a small bottle with a twist-off cap instead of a cork. After one sip, which left an aftertaste reminiscent of Dalton 's Chem lab at the end of a long, sulfurous day, she gently pushed the glass to one side and took a spoonful of chowder. It was delicious. Faith sighed. All these contradictions. It was odd that they had produced such a solid citizenry. Then she recalled that she was here investigating a murder.

  “That's why I stick to beer," Scott remarked, "That stuff always gives me a headache."

  “ It's not exactly grand cru. There are many better wines that I am sure you'd like." Roughly every other growth ever produced.

  They were straying again and before she found herself inviting him to the parsonage for a little wine tasting to the accompaniment of Tom's raised eyebrows, she continued the questioning.

  “About Dave. Do you know what time it was when you saw him ? "

  “It must have been about noon, because I get off work for lunch at eleven-thirty. I work at a body shop in By-ford. It probably took me ten minutes to drive to Ale-ford, then another ten to unload the bike from my pickup and eat my sub. I had ridden a ways up the tracks when I saw him. I turned to go to the hills by the power lines after that. My boss is pretty strict aboutbeing on time, so I only rode for about a half an hour. I usually wait to ride until after work, but it was too nice a day to waste.”

  Except in Cindy's case.

  “But I don't understand. You saw Dave and can even pinpoint the time. Why can't you tell the police?"

  “It's not a matter of `can't,' it's more `don't want to.' "

  “But why on earth not ? A person's freedom is at stake here."

  “Look, Mrs. Fairchild, the cops and me have never been what you'd call buddies. I finally got off probation a year ago and I swore I would never have anything to do with them again if I could help it." He saw the sudden question in her eyes. "Nothing big, no B and E's or anything. Just a lot of little stuff that mounted up—vehicle unregistered, uninsured ; trunacy, minor in possession. And for the record, since I'm sure you would all like to find a suspect to replace Dave, I barely knew Cindy. Didn't want to. She used to try to talk to me and I would just split.”

  I'll bet she wanted to get to know you, Faith thought. What a notch that would have been in Cindy's garter belt. Suddenly she remembered what Trishia had said about Cindy going after other girls' boyfriends. Maybe she was approaching this thing from the wrong angle. Revenge could provide a pretty powerful motive for a woman scorned.

  Scott was still talking. " I don't know Dave much, either. Just to say hello to."

  “But you can't let him go to prison simply because you don 't have a particular fondness for the police ! It's not as if you committed a crime."

  “Ah, but you see, that's the problem. Legally speaking, you're not supposed to be riding a dirt bike by the tracks or by the power lines. And it's posted. Everybody does it, but you can get nailed for it."

  “For a person who doesn 't want to have anything to do with the police, you seem to be taking some rather big chances." Faith was getting annoyed.

  Scott looked at her calmly and smiled. Trishia had said he'd like the minister 's wife and Trish was usually right. That's why she made such a good girlfriend. She knew him. Ever since they had heard about the murder and Dave 's arrest, she had been after him to go to the cops. She was from Aleford and knew Dave. But he wouldn 't and then she came up with Mrs. Fairchild—she knew he'd much rather talk to Faith than to Mac-Isaac.

  “Little chances," be told her. "Tiny chances. I never ride there on weekends when people are out walking. And it's not exactly a big city police department. They don 't have the manpower to stroll along the railroad tracks every noon on the off chance that Scott Phelan might go for a ride when there are all those traffic tickets to give out and lost dogs to find."

  “So you're just going to sit back and let Dave be found guilty of a murder he didn't commit !"

  “Now, be calm, Mrs. Fairchild. I never said that. I said I didn't want to and I don 't. And here is where you come in, and your husband, since I assume you don't keep secrets from him.”

  Was he laughing at her, Faith wondered ? And of course she didn 't keep secrets from Tom. At least not secrets like this.

  “Of course you can just go to the police and tell them what I've told you and they'll come and boot me down to the station for questioning, but what I want you to do is hold off for a day or two. They have a lot of guys working on this case and the police are not the jerks they seem to be, or not all of them anyway. They'll turn something or someone up and then I won 't have to get mixed up in it. But don 't worry, I'll be a good citizen and if it looks like Dave needs my testimony, I'll come the minute you tell me to. I just don 't want to get involved if I don't have to and that's the best I can do for you. Except for one more thing. If you agree to this, I'll work my butt off trying to find out anything else—starting here at Willow Tree. If someone here doesn't know all about it, it hasn't happened yet. If you don't agree, you're on your own. No hard feelings either way.”

  The smile again.

  Faith wasn 't sure what she had gained. A partner? A Watson he wasn 't and she knew that Tom for one would be appalled by the ethics or lack thereof in the agreement. But somewhere it made a little sense. In any case, it would have to do. She was sure he wouldn't have told her he had seen Dave if he hadn 't been pretty sure she would agree to his terms.

  “All right," she said, rising to leave, "but not for long and we get to tell Dave."

  “That's no problem. I would have told Dave myself, but they've been keeping him pretty busy.”

  Maybe she was wrong about the ethics, Faith thought. Scott stood up, too. Really, he was breathtaking. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Fairchild," he said, extend- ing his hand.

  She took it.

  “Nice to meet you too, Scott, and say hello to Trishia for me. She is your girlfriend, isn 't she ? “

  Faith looked at her watch. She had been gone almost an hour and had better hurry. Tom might be getting worried. On her way out she glanced into the smaller room and was getting into her car before the fact fully registered that the Moores' son, Robert Jr., had been sitting across from someone in a shadowy corner of the room. Now what was he doing home from college ? As far as she knew it wasn 't vacation. Maybe he had stayed on for a day or so after Cindy's funeral.

  That evening when she told Tom about her conversation with Scott Phelan, he was even more annoyed than she had thought he would be. He was in fact, very angry. He had been angry enough earlier when Faith, in a misguided bid for sympathy, told him about Dunne following her.

  “ Faith ! " he said now as he strode up and down the living room setting off a cacophony of creaking floorboards. "Faith! I thought you were merely going to keep your ears and eyes open.' That is a far cry from leaving your house in the middle of the night to tryst with a bunch of teenagers, ending up with a police escort home ! And thank goodness he is keeping an eye on you, although what he must think of me snoring away while you are all over the landscape, Heaven knows. And now you go off to some shady diner to meet a strange man. Faith, I just can't believe you would put yourself in such danger!"

  “Now, Tom, I wasn't in any danger. Okay, I was a little nervous driving back last night, but meeting someone at a public place—it is not shady and they have very good chowder—is not exactly tying myself to the railroad tracks."

  “And what if he had suggested you go examine the exact spot where he had seen Dave ? You would have gone. I know you would have. You are the most outrageous combination of blind trust and curiosity of any woman I have ever known ! "

  “Stop shouting, Tom, you're going to wake the baby. And, how many trusting, curious women have you known ? Please give me a little more credit. I do have some common sense. I would not have gone to the railroad tracks with Scott. Especially not at first."

  “Faith!”

  It took a while, but eventually Tom calmed down and Faith was able to tell h
im exactly what Scott had said. Which started him up all over again.

  “ What does this guy look like anyway ? I think he must have mesmerized you."

  “Honestly, Tom! He 's just a kid. A little better than average looking, jeans, leather jacket. You know the type."

  “Yeah, Butch Cassidy, the Sundance Kid, and Tom Cruise all rolled into one."

  “Tom, we're getting off the subject here. We have a witness. Whatever you may think of him. He saw Dave by the tracks at noon and will testify if he has to and I think he knows he has to. It's that he wants to come in through us and as part of Dave's case rather than through the police. He didn 't say not to tell Dave's lawyer, only the police, and we can check with him tomorrow.”

  But Scott was right. By the next day it wasn't necessary.

  6

  Faith was awakened early next morning by the sounds of an unusual amount of activity next door at the Millers. She got up and looked out the window.

  “Tom ! Tom ! My God! Get dressed! There are a million police cars next door. Hurry ! “

  Tom pulled on his clothes in record time and sped over to the Millers. He almost collided with MacIsaac and Dunne, with Sam Miller between them. Faith, watching from the window, could not imagine what was going on. What could they possibly want with Sam ? Tom got into the patrol car with them. Faith wasn 't sure whether she should go over to Pix or wait to see if Tom called. Five minutes later the phone rang. It was Tom.

  “Faith, it's absolutely insane. Sam is a suspect inCindy's murder ! Evidently there are eyewitnesses who saw them together on Friday morning, quarreling. And some of the photos were of Sam. It seems he was having an affair with her. And they found a one-way ticket to Puerto Rico in his pocket for a flight tomorrow. You'd better get over to Pix.”

  Faith for once in her life was absolutely speechless. Sam ? Cindy ? Who was going to be arrested next ? Mr. Brown, the church's seventy-five-year-old sexton ?

  She got Benjamin ready quickly. She wasn't going to stop for breakfast, she was going right over to Pix. But as she opened her door, there was Pix on the doorstep, red-eyed and slightly crazy. They went into the kitchen where Pix immediately began to weep hysterically.