The Body in the Bonfire (19 page)

“Nasty weather, so sorry. Didn't see you.” Winston was rambling on. Faith hadn't seen him since the bonfire and she was shocked at the change in the man. Granted, he was elderly to begin with, but he seemed to have aged even more in a very short time. She remembered he had been tutoring Sloane. Had they become close? Yet simply the loss of a young life, one of your own students, was cause enough. On impulse, she reached out for his arm.

“I'm so sorry about Sloane Buxton. I know you must be terribly upset about it.”

He looked at her with something like gratitude.

“Yes, yes, I am. ‘Beauty, truth, and rarity, Grace
in all simplicity, Here enclosed in cinders lie.' The Bard, again. A fine specimen that boy. Credit to his kind. Damned fine.”

The rain threatened to drown out the old man's words. Faith had to leave.

“I'll come by for tea soon,” she promised.

“Today?” His face brightened.

“I'm afraid I can't make it today….”

“Then we'll say tomorrow.”

Faith thought of everything she had to do, looked at his face again, and agreed.

 

“It's a toasted cheese kind of day,” Marian said, taking their raincoats. “And soup. I made pea soup.”

Faith felt all the stress of the last few days begin to seep away. Comfort food and comfortable Marian. Amy would fall asleep after lunch. Her eyelids were heavy now. Maybe Marian could shed some light on the whole Mansfield business. She'd called as soon as she'd heard about the murder on the news, and Faith had been grateful for her concern.

While Marian put the food on the table, Faith peeked into the living and dining rooms. From Tom's report, she'd been expecting glass and chrome. She should have known better. It was a big change, but the only drastic part was the light and airy feeling, apparent even on a rainy, gloomy day like today. The walls in the dining room remained the same—dark wainscoting. The
house was one of the oldest in Norwell, if not the oldest. But Marian had found a simple Shaker-style dining room table and chairs. A trimmer cherry sideboard, which Faith suspected might be the work of Thomas Mosher, made the room seem larger. The heavy drapes were gone, replaced by sheers and William Morris Willow Bough valences—fronds of pale green leaves on a blue-green background. The wallpaper in the living room was gone and the walls had been painted a warm buttery yellow that picked up the color of the flowers in the chintz covering a large overstuffed couch, piled with extra cushions for even more comfort. The same chintz hung at the windows. An armoire contained the TV and a stereo system. The den had always served as Dick's home office, and the TV there, placed squarely in front of the La-Z-Boy, was his alone. Faith noted that Marian had had cable installed. She must be watching the Discovery Channel. The old wall-to-wall carpeting was gone and the floors had been refinished.

“What do you think?” Marian called from the kitchen. “I'm not done yet. I still have to get a rug or two, a few more things to hang on the walls, and a new coffee table. I'm sure I'll find something on my travels.”

“It's fantastic,” Faith enthused, returning to the kitchen. And what was even more fantastic was that Marian had whipped most of it up on her own. The notion was daunting.

“I got the idea for the valances from that show house we went to in Aleford. Remember?”

It would have been hard to forget. That was the place where Faith had spied some of the silver that had been burglarized from her house.

They sat down to eat and Marian said, “Dick will get used to it. He's already admitted the new sofa is more comfortable than the old one. A major concession.”

The two women smiled.

“Men are not good with change,” Marian continued. “I'm not sure why that is. But I can imagine the hunters returning to the women they left behind and complaining that the cave was different.”

“I have a friend whose husband keeps adding on to their house because he can't stand the thought of moving. They have two kids now, and she swears if there's a third, she's calling the Realtor herself rather than undergo yet another remodeling job.”

Faith remembered why she was here—supposedly.

“Do you think that's why Dick doesn't like to travel?” she asked.

The question of what to call her in-laws had come up shortly before the wedding. Dick had cheerfully suggested she call him “Dad,” but Faith already had a dad, and while she was trying to figure out how to tell her future father-in-law kindly how uncomfortable this made her feel, Marian had weighed in. “I don't want to be called
‘Mother Fairchild.' That sounds like somebody's pies or a patent medicine. Why can't she call us by our first names? She already has two perfectly good parents.” Faith fell in love with her at that moment and forever more.

“Let's put Amy in the guest room and I'll make coffee,” Marian suggested.

Soon they were sitting in the new living room. Marian had her glossy travel brochures spread out on the old coffee table, which did look pretty forlorn.

“I've always wanted to go to the Galápagos. I was a bio major, you know.”

Faith hadn't known.

“And this particular cruise is perfect. Wonderful lectures, and we also visit Peru. I wish Dick would come, of course, but not if he doesn't want to, and he doesn't. He'd complain the whole time. It's not so much that he doesn't like to travel. He just wants to know where he's going. After this, I plan to go to Italy next fall—Tuscany. But I've suggested Scotland—all those golf courses—in June for us. He hasn't actually read the brochures I've piled next to his bed, but he hasn't thrown them away, either.” She drank some coffee and put the cup down. “I would no sooner leave Richard Fairchild for good than cut off my own head, and deep down he knows this.”

“Still, it doesn't hurt to shake things up a little after all these years.”

“Exactly. Consider your mission accomplished.
You've done your duty and are a perfect daughter-in-law. Now, tell me what's going on at that school? Those poor parents. I can't conceive of how they must feel. To lose a child is the worst thing that can happen. It's against the natural order.”

As usual, Marian had put her finger on the problem. The natural order was completely awry. Sloane and Daryl. Sloane and Zoë. Sloane and the kids he bullied. Sloane and his murderer.

It took a while to tell Marian everything, but it sorted things out in Faith's own mind.

“This Zoë must really be something. Do you think she was telling the truth—that it was the boy who went after
her
? Or was she just saying that to appease her husband?”

“I don't think she's ever tried to appease anyone, particularly her husband.” There had been so much contempt in Zoë's voice. “The headmaster's wife. That's a major conquest. And, of course, that explains Harvard. Oh my God, Marian. Thank you. Another penny's dropped.”

“What do you mean?”

“I've been wondering how Sloane could have been accepted by Harvard, early, late, or whatever. He's not a good student, and even though he had extracurricular activities a mile long—not that they're all suitable for listing on an application—competition for college, especially the Ivies, has never been fiercer. But Sloane wanted to go to Harvard, had all his life. So he seduced Harcourt's wife, then blackmailed the headmaster. He was a juve
nile. He could have threatened that he'd go to the police and have Mrs. Harcourt arrested. Maybe Harcourt altered his GPA. Certainly he would have pull with the admissions head; all the private schools do.”

“He was a very evil boy.” Marian looked aghast.

“I'm afraid he was.” Faith drank the rest of her coffee. It was still warm, and she needed some warmth.

“I would love to stay for the rest of the afternoon,” she said, meaning it. She'd like to stay for even longer. Marian could feed her more soup and toasted cheese sandwiches. They could watch old movies on cable. “But I have an appointment with a geek.”

“If Amy wants to stay, why don't you leave her for the night? I have to go to town tomorrow afternoon and I'll drop her off then. Dick will be thrilled, and I won't see her for a while when I'm on my trip.”

“But don't you have a lot to do to get ready?” Faith knew Amy loved to sleep over at her grandparents', but Marian had to be busy.

“Nonsense. I've been packed for days.”

 

Zach was where Faith expected him to be—in Carleton House's former dining room. She was, however, surprised to see Dan and Brian with him. This time, she didn't call out, but crept silently over to the computer terminal. They were
so engrossed that even if she had made a noise, they wouldn't have noticed.

She had to find out what they were up to, especially Dan. What was it that was obsessing the boy, causing him to fail at school, drop off the hockey team, and establish an armed camp at home?

When she saw what they were looking at, she couldn't help herself. She burst out laughing, and whether it was from humor or relief, she laughed so hard, tears came into her eyes.

It wasn't
Kitten with a Whip, All-Nude College Girls, The Sopornos,
or a chat room where everyone talked dirty.

It was eBay.

“What do you mean sneaking up on us like this!” Dan Miller was livid.

She couldn't very well deny the accusation. She
had
been sneaking up on them. With teenagers, it was almost always best to tell the truth.

“The other day when you saw me, you blocked the screen and turned the power off. I've been wondering what it was you didn't want me to see.”

“Well, now you know.” His voice was surly.

“No, I don't actually. Why wouldn't you want me to see that you were checking out something on eBay?” The screen was in full view and she could see the list. “
Star Trek
collectibles. I know you're a Trekkie. What's the big secret?”

Dan's mouth was clamped shut.

Zach sighed and looked at Faith. She knew he was thinking what she was—that this was no big
deal compared to the very big deal the two of them needed to get working on.

“Dan,” he said, “I told you and Brian that Mrs. Fairchild was coming and I had to help her with some computer stuff. She's here. She knows. Tell her everything or I will.”

Faith didn't put her hand on Dan's shoulder—teenagers did not like to be touched when they were angry—but she let it hover. “I know things haven't been going well at home, and at school. And
you
know how much I—and the whole family—care about you. Talk to Tom, if you don't want to tell me, but you have to do something.” She played her last card. “I know where your stereo is—and no, I haven't told anyone except Tom, because I haven't figured out what to do about it.”

More anger, then fear, then relief passed across Dan's face at roughly the speed of lightning.

“They don't understand. They keep saying they're toys, but they're not. That's what my mom keeps saying. She even brought me a carton to pack up my ‘space toys' to put in the attic.”

“You mean the
Star Trek
models you have in your room?”

He nodded. “I've been buying and selling them on eBay.”

“He has an awesome collection,” Brian piped up. “Most in mint condition and in the original boxes.”

Faith was looking for the
but
in all this and found it.

“But how can you do this without a credit card?”

“I used money orders until I met Zach.”

Zach smiled. “I'm the kid with everything, remember? A credit card from each parent, so I can get exactly what I want for my birthday and Christmas, they said. Not because they didn't want to have to go to the trouble of picking something out themselves. Oh no, not that.” He raised his hands in mock horror.

“So where does the stereo come in?”

“I had a cash-flow problem,” Dan confessed. “I had a chance to buy an Enterprise NCC-one seven oh one-B for next to nothing. Only that's what I had. Nothing. I can't take money out of my savings account because Mom checks my statements. To see how much interest I'm getting she says, but I know it's to check up on me. To make sure I'm not taking any money out,” he added bitterly. “They don't trust me at all.”

“Would you have been taking money out to add to your collection?”

“Probably. But it's not just a collection. It's an investment.”

Brian spoke earnestly. “He could already sell it for more than twice what he's paid for it, and it's going to be worth more and more as time goes on.”

“So, you come over here after school to go on-line with Brian and also to do your homework. So far, this doesn't sound like a capital offense.” Faith was amused and was sure it would all get
sorted out. Pix would be so relieved that Dan wasn't doing anything worse, she might consider loosening the reins a bit.

But it wasn't everything. Brian was blushing and having a hard time looking at Faith.
Star Trek
chat rooms. Was that it? And Dan had sworn he didn't go into any. Dan himself had shut down again and Zach looked impatient. It was time to get to Sloane's laptop.

“Yes, they go on-line. Yes, they do homework, but—how can I put this?—it's a
very
collaborative effort with Brian here, who is a math wizard, doing more than his share.”

Of course. Faith felt stupid. Dan couldn't have been doing his own homework so brilliantly and then failing every math test.

“Okay, here's what's going to happen. I want you, Dan, to go to the parsonage and tell Tom everything, starting from the beginning of the year. I know he's home now. No more cheating on homework, or anything else.” Faith thought she should throw this in. “No more pawning. I don't care if Spock's ears show up for ninety-nine cents. If you don't have it, you can't buy them. You'll thank me when you're an adult with no maxed-out credit cards.”

“None of this would have happened if my parents hadn't made me come here,” Brian complained. “No offense, Zach.”

“Hey, it's not exactly the Garden of Eden for me, either. Don't worry about it.”

“Have you told your parents how unhappy you are here?” Faith asked. She wasn't sure of his logic, yet his conviction was painfully real.

“They wouldn't listen. They put a decal on the car the day I got accepted.”

“Decals can be removed with a razor blade.” Faith felt full of solutions. “Your mother and father should know how you feel.”

“I live in Aleford. I always went to Aleford schools. They did, too.” He sounded as if he was rehearsing.

“Go home. Spill your guts. But go.
Now.
Oh, and Miller—get your sound system out of my room. You can owe me. I know where you live.” Zach was turning off the computer in front of them. Faith had time to see that currently eBay had 13,579
Star Trek
–related items for sale. Maybe Brian was right and Dan would astound them all by selling his “toys” at Skinner's in ten years or so for some astronomical amount of money. Like those lunch boxes from the fifties or the original Barbie dolls pristine in unopened boxes. Faith herself would prefer collectibles like Zoë's, but they were way out of the Fairchilds' price range. Well, she had her cookbook collection, and Ben was saving the new state quarters. The two together should bring enough for train fare to Boston.

Zach waited until Brian and Dan left before opening the laptop case. He placed the computer reverently on the table and pulled up two chairs.

“Kids.” He smiled at Faith. “What will they think of next?”

He cracked his knuckles and wiggled his fingers over the keyboard.

“Now, let's see what Mr. Buxton has in here. Yes, yes. There's something here. He didn't erase the hard drive.” He was clearly enjoying himself.

Faith moved her chair closer. “What is it?”

“Nothing—yet. He locked all his files; ergo, there's got to be stuff there he didn't want people to see.”

“Ergo?”

“I take Latin. Believe it or not, it's my favorite course.”

Faith could believe it. There was something reassuring, and engrossing, about translating such an orderly language. Ergo, it was perfect for Zach, a boy in need of such things.

“
Love, sex, secret,
and
God
—the most popular passwords, and Sloane has, or I should say had, very little imagination. Nope. Well, let's try his name, birthday—I looked it up for this very reason.”

“Mansfield lists everyone's birth dates?” Faith thought it was a homey touch.

“Not exactly, but I've been able to check certain things out in the school records. Ms. Reed is not into protecting files.”

He was so intent on what he was doing that he wasn't thinking about the implications of what he was saying. Faith decided to bring it up with him
another time. Right now, she wanted him to find out what was buried in Sloane's files, and it might help find out what buried him. She was thinking like a teenager again, she realized with a start.

They struck out again, and again, and again—trying variations on all the possibilities. Faith had a brainstorm.

“Try ‘Joey.'”

“Joey?”

“It's his first name. Joseph Sloane Buxton.”

Zach raised an eyebrow.

But Joey didn't work, either.

“I really wasn't expecting that we'd be able to get in using a password. It's probably something like ‘Magic Eight Ball' or even ‘paper clip'—whatever was on his desk at the time.”

“Sloane didn't have a Magic Eight Ball.”

“No, but I do. Oops, guess I'll have to change mine now.” He gave her a roguish grin. It was amazing the effect computers had on these kids. She had never seen the boy so happy.

“This may take a little time.” He was intent on the screen in front of him. “First we'll run Disk First Aid and see what that tells us.”

“Absolutely. Why didn't I think of this?”

“Aha,” he said after a while. “Misplaced file. Now this is interesting.”

Her “Why?” went unanswered as Zach's fingers flew across the keyboard. He hadn't even heard her. A sonic boom perhaps, not much less. Zach was in the zone.

“I didn't think the kid knew this much. Clever. Very clever. But definitely not Sloane's work. He had to have had help.”

“What did he do?” Faith asked.

“He took a regular file, marked it as an application, stripped it of its resource fork, and put it at the end of the file-system catalog, so it wouldn't be immediately available. It is also scrambled by seventy-two-bit encryption, which has to be correlated with a hundred-digit PGP key. All we have to do is reconstruct the resource fork, run our own copy of PGP, decipher his key, reconstruct the file, open it in ClarisWorks, and read it.”

“And I thought it would be complicated,” Faith said.

The results were extremely satisfying—and extremely disturbing.

Sloane kept meticulous records. Lists of names, addresses. Lists of money in, money out, money owed. Sloane was dealing drugs at Mansfield and Cabot big-time.

“I heard you could get anything you wanted from him, but I don't do that stuff—despite what the world thinks—so I never paid much attention. He must have started dealing in junior high. A few of these names have addresses on the North Shore, so they're either his suppliers or customers.”

“Suppliers. How would he deliver to customers from here?” Faith reasoned.

Zach was staring at the list. “A lot of self-medication going on. Shit! What are we going to do?”

Faith had been thinking exactly the same thing.

“We have to turn it over to the police and they'll work with Dr. Harcourt. Are you surprised by some of the kids on here?”

“Yes—and no.”

Faith was looking at the list. There was one entry that was only initials, “P.B.” She hoped Zach wouldn't pick up on it, but he was too smart. He looked at her. “P.B.? Do you think…” He didn't have to finish the sentence.

Paul Boothe wouldn't be that stupid. He couldn't take this kind of chance. But if he had and then Sloane began blackmailing him, what would he do? His whole career on the line. People killed for less, far less. She remembered what he'd said when Sinclair had protested that Sloane didn't have an enemy in the world. Boothe had said he didn't believe it and it was a question of finding out which one had the strongest motive.

She decided to change the subject—quickly.

“Let's see if there's any evidence of the stuff he was doing to Daryl.” That was what they were looking for, after all.

And there was—plenty. Articles and a whole list of racial epithets, some of which Faith recognized as components of the E-mails Daryl had received.

“This is beyond sick! The bastard!” Zach
looked like he was either going to cry or punch a hole in a wall. He stood up and walked to the window. It was beginning to get dark, but they hadn't put on any lights. Only the monitor glowed.

Faith opened another list. Female names with stars. It wasn't hard to guess what it was—cyber belt notching. She hastened to close it, but Zach was peering over her shoulder.

“Susan Beach—she's at Cabot. Three stars. Omigod, it's everyone he's laid. Mr. Stud Buxton.”

“We don't need to keep this. We should delete it immediately.”

“Mrs. Harcourt? He was sleeping with Mrs. Harcourt? I mean, she's older than my mother. Four stars! Mrs. Harcourt!” Zach was in shock.

“Zach, you can't repeat this to anyone. We have to delete these names.”

“Can't. Not without getting rid of the whole file.”

“All right, then. Shut down and show me how to bring it all up again. I'm going to take it to someone who will know what to do with it.”

As soon as the first list had appeared, Faith had decided to drive straight to Patsy's.

“I want Harcourt—and the rest of the teachers here—to know I'm not on Sloane's customer list. Just because I dress the way I do and my hair isn't Joe the Prep, they think I'm a druggie.”

Appearances. Daryl had talked about the same
thing to Faith. Except with him, it was the reverse. “No matter what I'm wearing, what people see is Mr. Hip-Hop—baggy jeans, crotch at my knees, Tommy Hilfiger shirt, and lots of gold chains.” Appearances. Real or imagined. It's the way kids are judged.

“One good thing.” Zach was still staring at the screen.

“What's that?” Faith asked.

“Maybe he got in over his head with his suppliers. Maybe he stiffed one of them. Maybe he just pissed them off. The police have got a whole list to choose from now, and somebody he may have bullied a little too much looks pretty feeble as a suspect in comparison.”

“You've been worried?” Faith asked.

“Yes and no.” This appeared to be a stock answer for Zach. “Let's just say I wasn't comfortable with their line of questioning.”

“You would have had to have an accomplice. You could never have lifted him into that piano box alone.”