Dunne was writing it all down in his Filofax. It was a new one, Faith noticed—brown instead of black calf.
“Did you hear anything while you were looking for this room?"
“No" Faith thought hard. "The old part of the building makes a lot of noises—creaks and groans—but nothing out of the ordinary. No cars pulling up or raised voices."
“And obviously you didn't see anything."
“No, not until I found Alden. But somebody was there. The lights in the hall went out shortly after I found the body.”
Dunne looked up, startled. "Jesus, Faith! You might have been killed.”
The thought had crossed her mind.
“Whoever it was was more intent on avoiding recognition. Lucky for me."
“Lucky!" John seemed about to say more, then picked up his gold Cross pen again and said evenly, "Charley tells me Spaulding was running for the Board of Selectmen. You're not crying, so he wasn't a friend, but you must have known who he was”
Dunne lived in a much larger town. Despite his years in the area—far away from his beloved Bronx—he still had not caught on to the nuances of places like Aleford. Of course she would know Alden Spaulding.
“He was a parishioner—which reminds me, I haven't called Tom—and even though this was the only time Alden had run for selectman, he was involved in allsorts of Aleford institutions: Town Meeting, Chamber of Commerce."
“What did he do?"
“He owns ... owned COPYCOPY.”
Dunne let out a soft whistle, just like the cops on TV. "So he was worth a pretty penny."
“Nothing was pretty about Alden, at least so far as I'm concerned, but yes, he was extremely wealthy.”
“We'll get back to your biases in a minute. First, who do you think will get the money? Wife? Kids?”
Faith hadn't thought about who would benefit. She did so now, aloud.
“He never married, and if he had any kids, someone, probably Millicent, would have spread the word. The only relative I know of is his half sister, Penelope Bartlett. His father remarried after his mother died and they had Penny. She's about seven years younger. But the two didn't get along, so Alden may have left his estate to charity.”
She stopped short at visions of a new roof for First Parish. She had been forcing herself not to think how relieved she was that Spaulding was very definitely out of the race for selectman. This happy new prospect was testing all her powers of restraint. One didn't jump up and shout for joy when someone died, particularly in such a manner. No matter how one might feel deep down inside. Faith's conscience shook its finger sternly. She was glad it was on the job.
“Penny is upstairs, if you want to question her. She is one of the extras. It's possible she may know the provisions of his will. Some of the property may have been in trust from her father and goes to the next of kin"
“I'll speak with her," he said, then moved on to another subject. "What do you make of the slide projec- tor? Was the guy some kind of photography buff? The slides are missing, by the way, so unless this Spaulding was demonstrating the art of hand shadows, we can assume the murderer took them."
“I've never seen him with a camera or heard him talk about an interest in photography.”
Dunne wrote it down. "Now, before I go, tell me quickly why you disliked him so much. Aside from your comment, it's written all over your face every time you say his name."
“Well, to start, he was selfish, mean-spirited, and extremely aggravating." All those endless calls to Tom complaining about picayune things—a sentence in the sermon, a wrinkled choir robe, a charity being supported by the Ladies Alliance. This last was actually not a small matter and had had the congregation in an uproar. He'd objected to their fund-raising for safe houses for battered women; said they should have the houses for men. He was really totally crazy. Here was a new thought.
“You know, he may possibly have been more than a little crazy. He used to have furious temper tantrums and was extremely paranoid."
“All very helpful," Dunne said, "and I want to talk more, only I've got to get upstairs." He got off the stool and walked toward the door. Just before opening it, he turned around and faced her with a look close to the old parental "Can you look me straight in the eye and say that?" one.
“Faith, I like to think you would have told me right away, but I'll ask just to make sure. Do you have any idea who would have wanted to kill him?"
“No, not kill him in fact. Figuratively, more than half the town, especially during this election. His personalattacks on his sister's character were beginning to get to people. But bash his head in? No, I can't think of anyone.”
And it was true. Tempting as it was to think that someone had killed Spaulding to prevent his election, no one in either opposing camp filled the bill. Not Penny and not Millicent. Pistols at dawn on the green would be more Millicent's style. She'd never sneak up behind him. She'd want him to know what hit him. And the Heunemans—impossible. James looked to be one of those New Englanders whose reverence for life was such that he even eschewed ant traps. No doubt Audrey was the same, or was she? What about her remark—was it only a few hours ago?—that if Alden thought he was going to win, he was wrong? Dead wrong. And what about knocking over the coffee urn the day they were shooting on the green? What was it Freud said about there being no such thing as accidents? No, it was impossible. Besides, tonight the people around her would know right away she was missing from the scene. Still, when they looked at the film, they'd have to check every empty seat. Besides Alden's.
On the way upstairs, she mentioned this again to John. "They've been shooting steadily since the break. It should be possible to tell who's missing by comparing the frames, as well as to estimate the time of death.”
John agreed. "Very handy—we don't usually have someone with a camera around before the crime.”
This reminded Faith of one of many unanswered questions. "I wonder why Alden left for his slide show during the shoot?"
“Maybe he was looking for the little boys' room, opened the wrong door like you did, and just happened to have some slides in his pocket."
“Or he'd arranged to meet someone." Faith was exploring all avenues.
“On second thought, why don't you go home now?" Dunne suggested pointedly.
Sure, run along and miss everything.
“That's all right. I'm really not tired. I'll give Tom a call and join you inside."
“Whatever." Dunne was walking rapidly away toward the auditorium, leaving his aspiring partner in the dust. She phoned home, told a barely conscious and totally astounded Tom what had happened, then followed Dunne's footsteps, carefully positioning herself just behind his line of vision. She'd decided not to inform Tom about the lights going out until she could tell him in person. It might have disturbed his rest.
Cornelia got up from the folding chair near the stage, where she'd been sitting clutching her clipboard, when she saw Faith and walked over to her side. She was visibly upset. "What kind of place do you live in! Every time we turn around, somebody else is getting killed!"
“Believe me, it's not an everyday occurrence." An everyweek occurrence lately, however. Faith was tempted to be more cutting with her old classmate. Oddly enough, it seemed important to defend the honor of what was now her hometown, except Corny was so uncharacteristically rattled that Faith decided to exercise tact. It was due for a workout, anyway.