“I know how upsetting this must be for all of you," she told Corny, "and everyone here feels the same way. It's totally inexplicable. But both Detective Lieutenant Dunne and Chief MacIsaac are extremely capable and I'm sure things will be straightened out soon. Why don't you sit down again? I think Detective Dunne may have something to tell us.”
Corny was only partially placated. "I still say this is a very weird place. I'd feel a whole lot safer in Central Park all by myself, wearing Mother's jewels at midnight!" It was hard to disagree when there was a corpse literally below their feet.
Dunne and Charley were deep in conversation. Maxwell Reed kept trying to interrupt and the detective was waving him away like an unwanted puppy. Finally, Dunne turned to the director and said, "Look. We know you have a movie to shoot. We know how much money you're losing. We know you're famous. But we have a very dead person downstairs. The second cadaver to appear in connection with your endeavor, and it's my show at the moment, so sit down and shut up. Please:' he added with one of his monstrous smiles.
The director did. Next to Alan Morris, who proceeded to meet Max's furious remarks with what Faith presumed were sympathetic murmurs, guaranteed to calm Reed down while remaining in total agreement. It was a gift.
Caresse and her mother were at the end of the row. It was hard to establish who was comforting whom. Caresse's head was on Jacqueline's shoulder and she was patting her mother's hand. Both looked fearful and close to tears.
Faith was surprised when Marta Haree approached her. "You are the one who found him, yes?”
Was it a guess or had she overheard Dunne and MacIsaac talking?
“Yes, I did."
“It is a horrible thing, murder. Cutting off a life before the appointed time. To find the victim must have been terrible also. I'm sorry, although perhaps he was not a close friend?”
Faith found herself answering, despite her surprise at the question. "No, he was not really a friend at all, although I have known him some time.”
Marta looked into Faith's eyes. "Then it's not necessary for you to become involved, which is fortunate. Sometimes people become involved in journeys better not taken." She spoke firmly, each word distinct.
For an instant, Faith was tempted to ask to the woman where her crystal ball was. It was definitely strange.
Marta turned to go back to her seat, her crystals clinking faintly. She smelled slightly of sandalwood. "You are a wonderful cook, my dear," she said with a smile.
Faith didn't know whether to break out in the chorus of "Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo" or whistle the theme from the "Twilight Zone”
Just then, John spotted Faith. She wondered whether he was going to make her go home, but, to her surprise, he crooked a finger and beckoned her closer.
“Charley can't find Spaulding's sister. Take a walk around and see if you can spot her. f not, I'll make an announcement.”
Faith surveyed the hall carefully. Everyone was clad in the same kind of monochromatic clothing they'd worn for the scaffold scene. She looked down each row. Penny had softly curling short hair—brown mixed with a substantial amount of gray. For the shoot, she might have removed the glasses she normally wore, and her ruddy complexion, the result of walking her Irish terrier, was shared by most of the hale and hearty Alefordians in the audience. The hair was the best bet, but it was nowhere in sight.
Millicent was sitting next to an empty seat, an aisle seat, and Faith was sure that must have been where Penny had been sitting, but Dunne had said he would make the announcement, so she didn't ask Millicent whether she'd seen Penny.
“She doesn't appear to be here," Faith reported, ardently wishing it could be otherwise. Why would Penny leave after Charley's explicit directions?
Dunne got up onstage and everyone quieted instantly.
“Would Penelope Bartlett come forward, please?" The only movement was that of people craning their necks to look for Penny.
Millicent stood up. She and Dunne were old friends.
“She's not here, Detective Lieutenant Dunne." Millicent believed in using full titles. "The victim was her half brother, so naturally she was very upset. She's gone home."
“Thank you, Miss McKinley.”
John Dunne would have leapt off the stage if he had been seventy or eighty pounds lighter and a few feet shorter. He got off as rapidly as possible and told Chief MacIsaac to get over to Penelope Bartlett's house posthaste.
He noticed Faith again and this time he did tell her to go home.
“All we're doing is taking names and asking if anyone saw Alden leave the room. So go home. Straight home.”
Dawn was beginning to streak across the horizon as Faith pulled into the parsonage driveway. She was very, very tired, and she endangered several of the Canadian hemlocks that made up the hedge separating the Fairchilds from the Millers before she stopped the car in front of the garage door. She was too exhausted to open it.
Upstairs, Tom awoke as soon as she came in the room. Normally, it took the alarm and his wife's gentle shaking to rouse him.
“Stay where you are. I'll be right there," Faith told him. She was soon resting in his arms beneath the duvet, incredibly happy to be where she was. Incredibly happy to be alive. As she told Tom what had happened, she allowed herself to feel the full impact. There had been a death. Another death. The violence of the crime and her own brush with danger jolted her into wakefulness.
“What do you do when someone you don't like gets killed? It's been horrible all night." She'd been glad the dimly lighted room had obscured the full extent of Alden's injury. It wasn't Technicolor; it was black and white.
“We do the same thing we do when anyone dies. We pray for them. We may not mourn them in the same way. That's only natural, darling, but we pray.”
Tom's words were comforting. There were times when it was very handy to have a minister for a husband, and Faith began to get drowsy again.
“I'll take care of everything. You try to fall asleep," Tom told her. She already was.
When Faith opened her eyes, it was almost noon. The phone was ringing. She jumped out of bed, forgetting for the moment that Tom must be home. It was answered on the fourth ring, which proved he was indeed downstairs and the children must be nearby, hence the delay. She grabbed her robe and went nobly to his rescue.
“Mommee!" Ben shrieked, "Amy keeps bothering me!”
It was hard to figure out how, since the baby was in her infant seat, peacefully batting at a toy bar with pastel-colored bunnies and other mutants of nature.
Child Number Two occupied for the moment, Faith turned her full attention to Child Number One. It was the ever-present threat to this position that she suspected was really bothering him. She picked him up and kissed the top of his head. His hair smelled like baby shampoo. Tom must have bathed him. Ben hugged her tightly and she hugged him back. She'd been missing both kids terribly.
“Honey, she's so little. She doesn't even know what bothering is." But she'll find out, assured a voice from within. "Show me what you've been doing. Have you had lunch yet?”
Ben wasn't sure. Tom shook his head from his position by the phone, where he was engaged in a remarkably one-sided conversation.
“Do you want to help Mommy make toasted cheezers?" The chance to reduce a slab of cheddar to crumbs with the cheese slicer was always a winner, and Ben nodded enthusiastically. "Amy can't do it. Amy can't do anything," he happily explained to his mother, who was getting out some sliced ham and tomatoes to add to the sandwiches.
Tom hung up and came over. He wrapped his arms around his wife and said, `Boy, am I glad you're awake. The phone has been ringing all morning. That was Millicent." He raised his eyebrows. "Our friend regards last night's incident as some kind of divine retribution. Her first words were, in fact, `Isn't it wonderful for the town' "