The Body in the Gazebo (16 page)

It was wicked to feel this way. She knew that, and in a flash she thought that Theo would have understood. He would have said, “Don’t worry about it, squirt. Everything’s going to be hunky-dory.” But it wasn’t and hadn’t been.

She’d shot up the first spring here. Not surprising given how tall her parents were, but she felt like Alice after she’d nibbled the cake labeled “Eat Me.” The Cabot girls her age were petite and dainty. She hated them. If it wasn’t for Marit she didn’t know what she’d do. And even with Marit, she wasn’t able to talk about Theo.

Theo. She missed him all the time, and it seemed each day brought a fresh reminder, fresh pain. Last week she had been looking in the living room bookshelves for something about King Arthur and came across one of Theo’s books from his course on medieval history with his name and address printed in his sprawling handwriting on the title page. The Professor ran the study sessions for the course, which helped Theo pass, and that’s why Father had hired him to tutor Theo over the summer. Ursula had dropped the book, but picked it up immediately and rearranged the others to fill the space it had occupied. She took it to her room, searching in vain for any notes or underlinings Theo might have made, and slipped it behind her Little Colonel books in her own bookcase. Theo had given her a copy of his formal freshman portrait. The photo and now the book were all she had of him. His gift, her treasured wristwatch, had disappeared, lost that night or during the days that followed. She didn’t want another one, and in any case, they were too expensive for the Lymans now.

She turned on Adams Street. It was the beginning of their third fall in Aleford. Nineteen thirty-one. Soon it would be 1932. Father had been able to let Sanpere for the last two summers at what Mother said was a “giveaway price,” but it was something. Ursula hated the thought of strangers at The Pines. Maybe next summer . . .

Would things ever get better? She’d heard Father tell Mother that so many shoe and textile factories, the mainstays of Massachusetts manufacturing, had closed that former workers’ children were barefoot and in tatters. People were going hungry, too. Several Sundays ago they had passed a long line of people on Tremont Street, and when she asked what it was her mother told her they were waiting to get served at a soup kitchen. One man facing the street had a placard around his neck saying he would work for food. That his children were starving.

She was wicked. She had food and a very pleasant roof over her head. A school to go to when so many others had none of these things. She pinched her arm and vowed to stop being so self-centered.

She was almost home. Adams Street was lined with tall maples and oaks. The leaves were brilliant reds and golds and would start falling soon. Falling, too, on Theo’s grave. A grave she’d never seen. She blinked back her tears, wiped her eyes, and stood up straighter. She didn’t want to upset her mother.

Aleford. What a stupid name. She hated this place and was counting the days until she’d be old enough to leave and never come back.

“W
ell, your two lovebirds are certainly discreet,” Patsy Avery said to Faith as she came in through the kitchen door. Will and the children went straight through to the living room.

“Lovebirds?” Faith was startled, but not so startled that she failed to take the sweet potato pie from Patsy’s outstretched hands.

“Didn’t you say you’d asked the Reverend Holden to come? I recognized him, but not the woman. They were holding hands as they walked down the church driveway toward the cemetery, but dropped them as soon as they got to where you might see them from your back window. There they are now coming around to the front door.”

“The woman is Eloise Gardner, our education director. Are you sure their hands didn’t just touch in a sort of friendly accidental way?”

“Nope. This was fingers entwined. Nothing accidental about it, unless you call love an accident, which it certainly can be.”

The front doorbell rang.

“Tom,” Faith called. “Could you get that? It’s our other guests.”

Eloise and James. This was definitely a new twist, Faith thought. Tom hadn’t mentioned anything about a budding romance between the two, but then, it wasn’t the sort of thing he’d notice, not until he was invited to the wedding. And Faith rarely saw the two together. Eloise was around after Sunday school, but she generally didn’t attend coffee hour—too many parents wanting to grab her attention, Faith assumed.

Did Patsy’s observation make Faith suspect either individual or both more, or less?

She turned her attention to the roast. Faith was a firm believer in traditional Sunday dinners. Today it was a leg of lamb with new potatoes and asparagus. The first asparagus was coming in from California and Faith was roasting it at the last minute in the oven with olive oil and garlic, a drizzle of lemon when she took it out. The tips would be slightly crunchy, the stems tender. The potatoes had been steamed and were in the pan with the fragrant lamb to brown. She’d seasoned the roast with more garlic and rosemary. If James and Eloise were an item perhaps she should leave some breath mints on the table at the end of the meal.

“What’s this?” Patsy asked, pointing toward a small dish filled with some sort of red jelly.

“I refuse to spoil lamb with mint jelly, no matter what my husband got used to as a child. But he still wants something like it, so that’s red pepper jelly.”

“Will has to have Heinz catsup with his scrambled eggs and the eggs have to be almost burned because that’s how his mother made them. What will our children be laying on their poor spouses, I wonder?”

“Given what you put on your table, they’re going to have a hard act to follow,” Faith said.

“Ditto, but I plan on teaching both of mine to cook—a gift to whomever. And you’ve already taught Ben and Amy to do more than push a button on the microwave.”

This was true, although there was plenty of button pushing, but both kids had always enjoyed messing around in the kitchen with mom, something Faith had never experienced.

T
hings were going well. There was nothing like good food and a glass or two of wine—a nice, full-bodied 2008 Porcupine Ridge Syrah from South Africa—to make people feel relaxed. Will was talking about how growing up in New Orleans, he and his friends would sneak into Preservation Hall and other jazz joints when they were young teens.

“The music never left and the rest of the city is definitely coming back,” he said. “That Super Bowl win didn’t hurt.”

“Didn’t hurt,” Patsy cried. “Folks are still hanging their Saints banners all over the place and don’t even think of wearing a cap or T-shirt anywhere in Louisiana with another team’s name.”

Faith decided it was time to try to steer the conversation in the direction she’d intended.

“Are you a sports fan, James? I know you must follow things like the America’s Cup.” She addressed the whole table. “I learned last night that James is an accomplished sailor when he was inducted into the Tiller Club. Have Faith catered the dinner.”

“Congratulations,” Will said. “My time on the water has been strictly limited to trying to get crawfish in the bayous, but I’ve always wanted to sail.”

The Reverend had flushed at Faith’s words. Yes, she’d been pretty obvious and now she was going to push it even more.

“James just bought a new boat, the club chairman told me. I don’t remember exactly how big it is, though.”

“Not that big,” he said quickly. “I was able to get it for a very low price. The owner was forced to declare bankruptcy.”

“So I heard. A great bargain. What was it? Ten—”

Before Faith could finish the sentence, everyone’s attention turned to Eloise Gardner, who’d spilled what was left in her wineglass down the front of the light beige blazer she was wearing with a black pleated skirt.

“Club soda,” Patsy said, getting up.

“I’m so sorry, but I don’t think any went on your tablecloth or the rug,” Eloise said.

“Don’t worry. Patsy’s right about the club soda and I have plenty in the kitchen,” Faith said. The three women left the table, and as Faith went through the door, she heard James say, “So what kind of law do you specialize in, Will?”

Captain Holden had seized the tiller and was steering in another direction.

Club soda worked its magic and the wine had not spilled on Eloise’s ivory-colored silk blouse or the scarf she was wearing draped across her shoulders.

“Your jacket should be dry enough to wear by the time you leave,” Faith said.

“Even if it isn’t, I won’t need it. It’s so warm today. Winter may truly be behind us.”

Patsy straightened Eloise’s scarf. “There, you look fine. And I love the nautical pattern.”

Faith loved it, too. The scarf was from Hermès—the Christopher Columbus model to commemorate his supposed discovery of America. Hermès scarves like this one cost about $400.

“It was a gift from—a gift from a friend.” Eloise stumbled over the words.

Patsy gave Faith a knowing look.

“Well, that must be a very thoughtful friend—and a good thing the wine missed it. As long as we’re out here, why don’t we give these starving children some dessert and put the pie in to warm?”

There were cheers from the round table by the window where the kids had been watching the cleanup. Nobody had spilled anything at their table, they seemed to be saying.

Eloise, Patsy, and Faith returned to the dining room. Clearing plates, Faith thought to herself, as Sigmund had said, There are no accidents. . . .

The party broke up after dessert. Will took the children home—Devon needed his nap—but Patsy insisted on staying to help Faith and headed for the kitchen. Eloise expressed her appreciation for the “gourmet meal,” retrieved her damp jacket, and left. As Tom was seeing her out, Faith was left alone in the dining room with James.

“A delicious meal, as always. Thank you,” he said.

His stern expression was at odds with the appreciative words.

“I’m glad you were able to make it,” Faith said.

“I come from a family of sailors,” he said abruptly. “Holdens have always owned boats. Airing First Parish’s dirty laundry in public is not my style and I wasn’t about to respond to your innuendos, but I can assure you that I am not involved in any way with Tom’s problem.”

Faith felt as if he had slapped her. He might as well have. And “Tom’s problem”? The good Reverend was firmly distancing himself.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re getting at, James.”

“Oh, I think you do and I’m telling you to stay out of my business. Boat buying or anything else I do on my own time has nothing to do with my commitment at First Parish.”

Faith knew he was speaking of “commitment” as in “calling,” but it certainly suggested “confinement.” She realized that she didn’t know much about James. Although he’d been at the church almost two years, she still thought of him as newly arrived. He wasn’t particularly outgoing, but both Tom and the vestry seemed happy with him, and she hadn’t heard any complaints from the congregation. She hadn’t heard much praise, either.

Tom came in. “Care to sit in the living room for a while, James? Another cup of coffee?”

“Thank you, no. I have to be in Cambridge soon.”

I’ll bet you do, Faith thought. Eloise lived near Inman Square.

He left and Tom went out to join the kids in the backyard. When Faith went into the kitchen, where Patsy had already filled the dishwasher, she could see her husband, rake in hand, heading for the thick winter leaf cover on the perennial beds.

There wasn’t much food left, but Faith put it away and was starting on the roasting pan when Patsy said, “Leave it to soak and pour me another cup of coffee. One for you, too. I want to know what’s going on.”

Faith had been waiting for this. Like her husband, Patsy was a lawyer, a juvenile public defender. Faith and she had been involved in two investigations over the years and Faith had learned that nothing much got past Ms. Avery. She couldn’t tell Patsy what was going on at First Parish, but if Patsy guessed . . . Faith laughed to herself as she admitted this was one of the things she’d hoped would happen today.

“Tom barely said two words all through lunch and he’s attacking those poor flower beds as if the leaves were hiding Satan himself,” Patsy said. “You start telling us about some boat and Reverend Holden looks like he’s been caught with his hand in the Poor Box.” Faith tried to suppress her gasp at Patsy’s apt description.

“So that’s it,” Patsy said slowly. “Money. Of course. A financial irregularity at First Parish. You don’t have to say anything. I know you can’t. You suspect James Holden and maybe the Sunday school director, too.”

Faith lowered her head toward her coffee to take a sip. It could also have been seen as a nod.

“But somehow Tom is being blamed, judging from the way he’s behaving—and the look on his face. One of those ‘My dog is lost; can you help me find him?’ kinds.”

Faith took another sip.

“Does he need a lawyer?”

“He has one,” Faith blurted out. “Sam. He’s away for the rest of the week, though.”

“Okay, I didn’t hear anything. Sam Miller is a good choice, especially as he knows the cast of characters. But before I leave, answer me one question: Why did Ms. Eloise pour her wine down her jacket so carefully? I saw it and she did a fine job of dribbling it so it missed her very expensive scarf and white blouse. Hmmm?”

“Hmmm,” was all Faith could think of in reply.

D
ora had come in Ursula’s kitchen door the day before, closing her wet Mary Poppins umbrella behind her. She’d smiled broadly at the scene. Ursula’s plate was almost clean. She was popping a last bit of liverwurst in her mouth. Faith had been afraid Dora would chase her away, but instead she had suggested she make a fire in the living room fireplace. “You can stretch out on the couch, Mrs. Rowe, and Mrs. Fairchild can keep you company a bit longer. Her visit today looks like it’s done you a world of good.”

Faith was conscious of a gold star about to be pasted next to her name in the Book of Dora.