The Body in the Bouillon ff-3 Read online

  “But Dr. Hubbard or Muriel would know if something like that was going on. Besides, it isn't likely they'd let Charmaine anywhere near the books, and Eddie would only have access to transactions dealing with maintenance. Of course, that could be pretty lucrative.”

  Faith made a face. "Don't be so logical. Charmaine and Eddie are the only leads I've been able to come up with so far, slim though they be. Well, there's still plenty of time before Christmas to find out. Although I would have liked to have had more to report to Chat. She's calling tonight. I got a letter from her yesterday announcing the fact so that she'll be sure to find me home, I suppose."

  “Anyway, you're having fun, aren't you?"

  “Yes, I suppose I am. I like the people at Hubbard House, even though some of them are a bit like characters from that game Clue. The cook, Charmaine, Sylvia Vale, Leandra Rhodes—her name may not be Mustard, but I heard at the ball her husband is a colonel, retired, and he does have a mustache."

  “Just so you don't find a body in the conservatory with a candlestick next to it."

  “Don't worry. Whatever this is, it isn't murder.”

  She slipped Ben back into his polar-fleece jacket and headed for the door. The dogs began to bark in disappointment. Ben started to join them.

  “He has got to stop identifying with your dogs so totally," Faith said. "When Lizzie was over the other day, they were running from bush to bush lifting their legs and falling down convulsed with laughter.”

  Pix was convulsed herself, and they left her surrounded by her canine children, Dusty, Arty, and Hanky.

  Chat did call that night and seemed satisfied by Faith's description of her activities to date. After Faith told her about Eddie and Charmaine, she commented, "They sound like the types who go around selling shares in nonexistent diamond mines—not literally, because the residents of Hubbard House seem too savvy for that, but its equivalent. Perhaps this delightful duo approached Howard, or someone else told him about a scheme. Try to see if you can get close to them and maybe they'll try to rope you in. Act dumb and naive. I know that's a stretch, dear."

  “The idea of getting any closer to Eddie than the next county is pretty loathsome, but for the moment it's all I have to go on."

  “In any case, it doesn't appear that anything at Hubbard House is going to place your pretty little head in peril, and you're leaving Benjamin at home, so he's safe—as opposed to your last escapade. I may have a large number of nieces, but you know you're my favorite and I wouldn't want to be the cause, though indirect, of any harm."

  “Hope told me you told her she was your favorite niece," Faith chided.

  “And so she is. You all are. Now, this is costing me a fortune and I'm saving all my pennies for Christmas gifts."

  “I hope you haven't changed your mind about coming to Aleford for Christmas, instead of going to Darien with Mom and Dad—especially if you are doing all that shopping."

  “No, I'll be with you. But I simply can't understand why your sister and Quentin are dragging poor Jane and Lawrence all the way to Connecticut on Christmas Day to be with Quentin's parents when it is Lawrence's busiest time of the year."

  “Because Hope thought it would be nice for the two families to be together. Remember, come January we'll all be related by marriage.

  “Well, much as I love her, I think it's a bit selfish, and besides, I was used to going to them for Christmas Day.”

  Faith thought it was a bit selfish of Hope herself. After Christmas Eve and Christmas Day services, Theodore Sibley was always exhausted and had been known to doze off while carving. But she also knew how delighted her parents were with the upcoming nuptials, and they had met Quentin Lewis' parents only once before.

  “You were invited, Chat," Faith reminded her.

  “I'm just beginning to get used to Quentin. I certainly don't want to meet any more of them before the wedding.”

  Hope's fiancé's Filofax was filled into the new millennium, and fortunately Hope fitted into the general scheme of things. Since Hope herself had been reading The Wall Street Journal and Forbes since early adolescence, they had everything in common. The one thing that made it all palatable so far as Faith was concerned was that the two of them were crazy about each other.

  “We're just happy you're going to be here, Chat."

  “That's kind of you, dear. I'll get you something especially nice, and don't worry, I'll stop at Dean & DeLuca before I get on the plane and bring as much as my poor old arms can carry. Now good-bye.”

  She hung up before Faith had a chance to express her delight and thanks. She was very happy that Chat was coming. With a husband and father in the business, holidays could not be spent en famille, and even though Tom's family would be with them, she liked having a member of her own tribe around.

  “It's already beginning to snow," Tom commented the next morning as he looked out the kitchen window. "Are you sure you ought to go over to Byford today? Those back roads could get pretty treacherous before noon."

  “Don't worry, sweetheart. Besides, I promised Mrs. Pendergast I would help finish cooking enough for the weekend in case the storm is as big as they're predicting."

  “All right, but go slow and leave early if things start to look bad.”

  Faith was in a cheerful mood as she drove to Hubbard House. The snow was beginning to stick, and it looked like Christmas was just around the corner, which it was. She was planning her Christmas Day menu in her mind and hadn't gotten past duck versus goose when she realized she was at the Hubbard House driveway. A small truck was spreading sand on the hill, and she followed it up to the parking lot. Eddie jumped out and came over to open her door. His cheeks resembled ripe McIntosh apples, and he looked excited.

  “I bet we're in for at least ten or eleven inches. Reminds me of the storms when I was a kid around here and we'd go plowing. We'd be out all night. It was great.”

  He looked like a kid again for a moment, and Faith felt she might have liked him then—before all the layers of crap had built up.

  “There is something exciting about the prospect of a storm," she agreed. "I'd better get in and start helping Mrs. P. fill the larder."

  “I think I'll go grab a cup of coffee, and if she's in a good mood, she might give me a doughnut." She wasn't.

  “We don't have time to waste today, Eddie," she told him abruptly. "Now get your coffee and skedaddle.”

  Faith had never heard anyone in real life use that word, nor seen anyone actually skedaddle, which Eddie very quickly did.

  “Talk your ear off, that one—and worse," she told Faith. "Never so much as an 'Anything I can do to help, Mrs. P.?' Oh no, just born with his hand out. Now let's get going.”

  Mrs. Pendergast obviously thought all of Hubbard House might be snowed in for the rest of the winter, and the next few hours were spent baking breads and cooking enormous pans of such Yankee staples as Indian pudding, baked beans, and brown bread. In between, they got lunch together. Faith went upstairs to the office at eleven thirty to hear a weather report and call Tom. There was still a great deal to do, and she wanted him to pick up Ben if he could. The snow was falling in thick sheets, but according to WEEI the roads were clear. She told Tom she wanted to stay a few more hours, and he agreed with such alacrity to get Ben that she knew Cyle must have trapped him in his office.

  “Cyle is there, right?"

  “Absolutely. Yes, indeedy. No trouble at all, honey. You do what you need to do."

  “Poor baby. There's lentil stew in the fridge and some of that Virginia ham. Fry it up and heat the stew for lunch. That should get the bad taste out of your mouth."

  “Okay, thanks, and drive carefully."

  “No, Tom, I want to spend the night in a snow-bank. Stop worrying!”

  She went downstairs, and after refusing as tactfully as she could some of the finnan haddie Mrs. Pendergast and her paprika can had prepared for the residents' lunch, she set to work.

  “We may have some of the day crew stuck here th
is weekend, so let's do extra of this chicken casserole," Mrs. Pendergast advised. The casserole bore a distinct resemblance to chicken à la king—exactly which monarch was to blame Faith had never heard. She managed to keep Mrs. Pendergast from going crazy with the canned pimientos and substituted some tarragon instead. She also convinced her that the biscuit on the side would be a novel change from the soggybiscuit-underneath-and-on-top approach. She looked down at her watch and realized with a start that it was past three o'clock. "Oh! I didn't know it was so late. I'm sorry, but I do have to go now."

  “Thank you so much, Mrs. Fairchild. I'm going to stay on myself and spend the night here, but everything is in fine shape."

  “Who knows? Maybe the storm won't be that bad. And please, call me Faith."

  “Thank you, Faith—and you can call me Violet if you like.”

  It would be hard, Faith thought, but she would try—for Violet's sake.

  She ran up the stairs and through the living room. Several of the residents were standing by the windows looking at the mounting drifts of snow and making predictions.

  “It might be another 1978," Ellery Cabot observed.

  Faith could never figure out if local residents made this remark (which they tended to do when more than a few flakes of snow fell) fearfully or nostalgically. It was usually followed by reminis- cences of exactly how many days they were without power and confined to their respective dwellings by the over-three-foot snowfall.

  Ellery's wife, Julia, turned and saw Faith. "Are you sure you should drive home in this? It's really coming down now."

  “I'll be all right," Faith replied. "Aleford isn't far, and once I get on Route 2, the rest will be easy."

  “If you change your mind, there's plenty of room here," Julia offered.

  “Thank you," Faith said, pulled open the front door, and stepped outside. A blast of snow and cold air hit her full in the face as the door slammed shut behind her. It was worse than she thought, but she had no desire to spend the night away from home.

  The car started at once, and she inched down the long driveway. It had been sanded again, and she pulled onto the main road with a sigh of relief that was was immediately drawn back into her lungs less than half a mile later as the car slid completely out of control. She steered in the direction of the skid, stayed calm, and came to a halt hood down in a pile of snow the size of the state of Alaska.

  “Damn, damn, damn," she muttered aloud and smacked the steering wheel. She didn't even have her Leon Leonwood Bean boots on, the ones for which she had reluctantly traded her Joan and Davids her first winter in Aleford. She was wearing her down parka and warm gloves, though.

  She got out of the car and tied her red muffler to the antenna, where it waved cheerily in the wind. "Damn this weather. Damn this climate. Damn this place." She'd never gone off the road in Manhattan. She didn't even have to drive in Manhattan.

  She crossed the road and started back the way she'd come. Soon her feet had lost all feeling and the snow was choking her. Her cheeks stung painfully. She kept her head down and tried to keep the flakes from gluing her eyelashes shut so she could see where she was going. She felt like Little Eva on the ice floes. After what seemed like twenty-four hours, she saw the almost obliterated sign for Hubbard House and started trudging up the steep driveway. When she got around the bend, the sight of the lighted houses looming up ahead was so welcome that she started to sprint and immediately slipped and fell headlong, but unhurt, on top of one of the frozen rhododendrons.

  The Cabots were still gazing out the window and had the door open before she reached the top step.

  “Oh, Faith, what happened? Are you all right?" Julia cried.

  “Come over here by the fire, dear," Ellery said. "Julia, get some brandy, would you?"

  “I'm fine," Faith whispered. "But my car went off the road. I've got to call my husband."

  “Of course, but warm up a moment first," Ellery advised, and guided her over to the hearth, where she took off her things. The snow fell in large clumps on the deep-red oriental rug. Ellery gathered up the sodden garments and Faith collapsed in an enormous wing chair. Her toes and fingers immediately began to throb painfully.

  Julia returned with a large snifter of brandy, some slippers, and a towel. She also had a lap rug, which she threw over Faith. After a few minutes, pleasant feelings of warmth and safety began to creep over her. Various parts of her body stopped hurting. She almost nodded off, then sat up with a jerk. "I've got to call Tom. He'll be frantic.”

  He was. After she had reassured him, she told him how admirable it was that he wasn't saying "I told you so."

  “I know and I did," he said. "I was afraid you'd get stuck, and I hate to spend the night without you."

  “Me too," agreed Faith. The brandy and warm surroundings had restored her. "Well, since I'm here I'd better go down to the kitchen and help Mrs. Pendergast get dinner."

  “I think you've done enough, honey, but if you feel like it. It's up to you."

  “It's that or learn to play cribbage."

  “You could sit and read a book. In any case, it hasn't been my impression that Hubbard House was filled with sedentary cribbage players."

  “You're right. They're probably out shoveling snow, filling bird feeders, or looking for other hapless maidens, like myself, with kegs of clam chowder tied around their necks.”

  Faith hung up and went back to the living roomto thank the Cabots. They were waiting in front of the fire, and when she told them she was going down to the kitchen, they were adamant she remain with them and sit at their table for dinner.

  “Mrs. Pendergast has all the help she needs and then some," Julia told her. "I was down there a little while ago, and Leandra has organized crews from now to the end of the emergency, which could be months from the look of her forces.”

  Faith gave in and tucked herself back before the fire. She picked up a newspaper and pretended to read. She missed Ben. She missed Tom.

  Ellery left to get something from their apartment, and Faith asked Julia, "Have you lived here long?"

  “For about five years. The house was getting to be more than we wanted to manage, and although Ellery is in excellent health, we thought it best to be in a facility where he could get more extensive care if he needed it and I could be near him. He's over eighty, you know." Faith had been surprised to hear Ellery's age at the Holly Ball and expressed it aloud now.

  “He certainly doesn't look his age," she commented, swiftly changing "that old" to "his age" in the interests of politeness.

  Julia nodded, "I'm somewhat younger, and a few of my friends warned me about moving here. In some places the less elderly residents become a bit like pets—infantilized. Even though at times a woman in her sixties might like to be thought of as a young thing, as a steady diet it wouldn't have been too pleasant."

  “Then it hasn't happened."

  “No, partly because I'm still working, so I'm only around in the evenings and on weekends. And Ellery and I are out a great deal. It's also because so many of the people here are fiercely independent. They don't need or want someone to wind their wool or fetch their slippers.”

  Faith stretched her feet out in front of her. "It was very nice of you to fetch them for me, though." She decided she liked the Cabots. On closer inspection, Julia was even prettier than she had seemed at the ball. Her hair was down now and framed her face in soft waves. Ellery looked like the generic New England Yankee gentleman of advancing years he was—ruddy complexion from sailing out of Marblehead, tall, wiry, white-haired, with clear blue eyes that didn't miss much. She guessed he did something downtown. It was immediately confirmed.

  “Ellery's first wife died early in their marriage. We met when I came to practice in his law office. He likes it that I'm there to report back to him, and he still goes in occasionally. He's painstakingly working on a book of memoirs—wanted to call it My First Hundred Years, but Eddie Bernays beat him to it.”

  Faith spent what was left of t
he afternoon in front of the fire chatting with Julia and meeting some of the other residents. She was confirmed in her first impression—that the group at Hubbard House was a resilient, vigorous one, involved in both the small world around them and the larger one outside. One man spent a half hour describinghis work organizing a local recycling station. Another woman stopped by to remind Julia that the committee that met to invite local authors to come and speak would be meeting on Monday night. Faith didn't doubt that the inhabitants of Hubbard House suffered the aches, pains, and various discomforts old age brought—some of them serious—yet they dealt with them and kept on going. Business as usual, if possible.

  Ellery reappeared and they went in to dinner. The dining room was full and everyone was enjoying the novelty of the first big storm. There was an air of excitement in the room and a noise level, though subdued, that Faith guessed was higher than usual. She was hungry and dug into the chicken casserole. It wasn't Lutèce, but the tarragon had perked it up a bit.

  There was no sign of the Hubbards, and Faith asked if they took meals with the rest of the residents.

  “Muriel is usually too busy upstairs and has a tray, but Roland eats with us most nights. I imagine he's had things to do because of the storm, and Donald lives in Aleford.”

  They were eating their apple crisp when Leandra Rhodes appeared in the doorway and sailed over to their table. Hair wisped out from her braid and she was flushed. She had somehow managed to get a smudge of flour on her face, which she wore as a badge of honor.

  “Goodness." She plopped down in one of the empty chairs at the table. "We've been busy in the kitchen. I see you got stuck, Mrs. Fairchild, and as soon as I finish downstairs, I'll get you settled. Mrs. Pendergast says you're a caterer and that you made the dinner tonight. It certainly was delicious.”

  Faith hastened to enlighten them that her sole contribution had been a bit of seasoning, but she had a sinking feeling that she was destined to go down in the culinary annals of Hubbard House as the Pink Lady who made the good chicken à la king.

  “If you're busy, I can show Mrs. Fairchild where she can stay," Julia offered.