The Body in the Bouillon (22 page)

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Authors: Katherine Hall Page

BOOK: The Body in the Bouillon
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“And she knew exactly where to put the knives from her nurse's training. But why two? One for her wrongs and one for James'?”
“Nothing so poetic. The first one in the windpipe was to shut him up and the second was the insurance. She said she was pretty sure one would do it, but she was afraid to take a chance.”
“Was her father there during the confession?”
“No, he waited outside. It was just the lawyer, Muriel, Sully—Detective Sullivan, that is—and me. Fortunately we managed to lose Coffin on the way.”
Faith felt very tired. “I'm going to make some more coffee. Want some?”
“No, much as I'd like it. I have to get back to the store.
Somebody found a body in the woods near Ashby when they were looking for a Christmas tree to cut down.”
He went over to Ben, who was sufficiently in awe of Dunne to look away from “Sesame Street.” Dunne patted him on the head. Faith hoped it would not stunt his growth. “Say hi to Santa for me, kiddo.”
At the door, he gave Faith a kind of hug. “Put it behind you now. It's over. It's sad as hell, but it's got nothing to do with you. Throw a log on the fire, make Tom some wassail, and be merry.”
“I will,” she promised. “It's just that it's been so involved and it seemed relatively simple at first.” At first—Chat's call seemed months ago.
“You did a good job, Faith. All the bad guys are rounded up. You'll probably get some sort of citation from Boston for getting Stanley Russell's license plate number. They've been trying to nail him for years and now they've got him on vehicular homicide, hit-and-run, you name it. He must have been pretty desperate to shut Hubbard up to take a chance like that. Whether we'll ever establish any connection between him and our friend Charmaine I doubt. In any case, there'll be no more blackmailing of the elderly by any of them. Hubbard House is safe.”
She closed the door behind him. He was right. This was where Howard Perkins' initial suspicions had led, and she knew he would have been pleased that the place he had grown to love was battered and bruised, but not broken. Chat, who was arriving on Saturday, would be pleased too. Everyone was pleased, so she should be pleased as well and she would be if only she didn't feel so terrible.
The show was over. She flicked off the set, grabbed Ben before he could protest, and tried not to feel guilty at how often she had been resorting to the electronic baby-sitter lately. “Time to make the gingerbread house, my little gumdrop.”
 
 
The Hubbard House Christmas party was held right on schedule. Faith had been fairly certain it wouldn't be canceled. She hadn't lived in New England for this long without learning a few of the mores, and one of the biggies was “On with the show, keep dancing even though the ship has struck an iceberg, and above all, don't let the sun catch you crying.”
She planned to stay for only a short time—nibbte a cookie, drink some punch, then race home to watch Tom watch the Celtics. It was amazing how frequently they seemed to play. When she told him her plan, he approved, except for the racing part.
“It's getting cold out, and the roads may ice up. And—”
“I know, I know. No more snowbanks. No more bodies. Don't worry, darling. See you soon.”
She left him happily ensconced in what they called the “comfy chair”—virtually the only one in a parsonage filled with an orthopedic army of straight-backed, hard-seated varieties bequeathed by Tom's predecessors. Ben was snuggled in Tom's lap and Faith was sorry she had to leave.
As she drove up the winding drive, the two houses sparkled ahead—lighted from top to toe. Inside, someone had completed the decorations started earlier in the week. There was an enormous tree in the living room covered with gold balls, a few discreet strands of tinsel, and small white lights. A large silver bowl of holly sat on the mantel and more sprigs of holly were tucked on top of the pictures on the wall. Faith could hear the sounds of merriment from the dining room, left her coat in the closet, and hastened in. A fire was crackling in the large fieldstone fireplace at one end of the room, and Faith felt drawn by its warmth.
Mrs. Pendergast, resplendent in a long dress of royal purple velvet, was presiding over the punch bowl. Faith was relieved to see it wasn't eggnog. One cup a season was plenty and she always had that at the Millers', where Sam
ladled out a robust version for all the neighbors on Christmas Day.
“Faith, I'm so glad you came. Have some claret cup? It's one of Dr. Hubbard's family recipes.” She handed her a brimming cup.
“Thank you and Merry Christmas, Violet. Your dress is beautiful.”
“I wear it every year and have only had to let it out three times. It's my favorite color. Now do you think Mother knew somehow and named me after it, or did I get to like it because of the name?”
It was one of those metaphysical questions Faith preferred to avoid.
“Probably both,” she answered, and took a sip of punch. “It's delicious.”
“Now I want you to go over to the buffet and try my cream puffs—Dream Puffs, I call them. Even if you don't eat anything else, have one of those. I know you young people are always on a diet.” She eyed Faith's slender figure, not in her red Mizrahi tonight but in a Scott McClintock Little Women update—midnight—blue velvet bodice and puffed sleeves with a short, full taffeta skirt. Faith thought it was very regional and felt she ought to have had a fitted coat, tippet, and muff to match for the sleigh ride home.
She left Mrs. Pendergast, got a Dream Puff—there was no way to avoid it—and strolled over to the windows. The lights in the room had been dimmed and candles were everywhere. Winston's and Sylvia Vale had done beautiful things with white roses, red amaryllis, boxwood, more holly, and yards of gold and silver ribbon. Carols were playing softly. The whole effect was of a beautiful stage set. Faith expected the woman sitting on the window seat to turn and start singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” to Margaret O'Brien. The figure turned, but it was Julia Cabot, not Judy Garland, and she didn't sing but waved. Faith sat down next to her.
“Merry Christmas, Faith. Ellery will be down in a moment. He always has trouble with his studs and insisted I go ahead.”
Most of the men were in black tie, elegant, courtly, and like the women in the pretty once-a-year Christmas gowns, very well preserved.
“Merry Christmas, Julia.” Faith paused. It was hard to know what to say next. Since she had walked into the room, she'd had an odd sensation that none of the events of the past week had occurred. That Eddie, Leandra, Muriel—and maybe even James, the prodigal, would come through the door and it all would have been a dream. Something to mention briefly in the golden glow of the room, so whoever you were speaking to could laugh incredulously at such a phantasm and make it disappear.
Julia didn't laugh. She spoke into the pause. “It seems so odd to be here like this, yet there isn't anything else to do but go on. This is what Roland wants—and all of us agree. He spoke to Ellery and told him what had happened and asked that he tell everyone else. Poor Muriel. I had no idea she was so unhappy.”
Faith hadn't considered things from this angle, but of course Muriel was unhappy. Living in such isolation. Easy pickings for someone like Eddie Russell.
Julia continued. “Some of us knew about James. I did, because Ellery mentioned once that there was another child. Roland lost two children on Wednesday. I don't know how he can bear it.”
“Where is he tonight?”
“Sylvia said he would look in later for a few minutes. She was able to convince him it wasn't necessary for him to be here all the time. That people understood.”
“I was glad to hear that Leandra is going to be all right.”
“Yes, I saw her yesterday. She's demanding to come home, so I'd say she's mending fast. I think I'd like to be like her—or like her in that way—when I grow up.”
“Me too,” Faith agreed, and the two women laughed.
Faith recognized some of the Pink Ladies from the Holly Ball. Denise wouldn't be waltzing in tonight, but she was going to be all right. Tom had been to see her on Tuesday and she had called Faith just this morning. Joel was staying with Joan and Bill Winter, Denise's neighbors, and visited her every day. The thing she had feared most—that he would hate and reject her—had not happened, and they were both going into therapy. She told Faith it was going to be the happiest new year of her life.
Faith finished her Dream Puff, aware of Mrs. P.'s eagle eye from across the room. She saw Sylvia Vale and excused herself from Julia to say merry Christmas. A few minutes more, then she could leave.
As she crossed the room, something that looked like a Christmas package all wrapped up in shiny paper and ribbons swooped down upon her.
“Mrs. Fairchild! So glad you could come, and I do hope we can keep you on our roster of volunteers?” It was Bootsie.
“I am going to be busy starting my catering business again, but I would be happy to help out if you get stuck.” Faith was beginning to count the days until Mr. Dandy—not his real name, she suspected and hoped—of Yankee Doodle Kitchens left for Florida and she could hang her toque out.
“That's so kind of you.” Bootsie lowered her voice and slipped her arm through Faith's, drawing her to one side, and enveloping her in a slightly nauseating cloud of Beautiful. The woman must bathe in it, Faith thought. Like mother, like son.
“And I'd like to thank you and the reverend for being so good to my boy. He's been having a hard time lately. Girl trouble, I suspect, but then a mother's always the last to know.” Faith was fairly certain this was true in Bootsie's case.
The woman was still talking, and suddenly Faith's ears
opened wide and it was all she could do to stop herself from bursting into the Hallelujah Chorus. “I'm not supposed to mention anything until he's had a chance to talk to your husband, Tom. I hope I can call him that. I always think of him that way, since that's how Cyle speaks of him. Maybe Reverend Tom, but that sounds like one of those TV shows. But Cyle has begun to have doubts. I know you'll be as shocked as I was, though I did wonder in the beginning when he had been an economics major why he wanted to go into the ministry. He's going to take some time off and think about it all.”
Faith wanted to get this straight. The torrent of words, the perfume, and maybe the combination of Dream Puffs and claret cup were starting to make her feel sick. “Are you saying that Cyle is dropping out of divinity school?”
“Well, maybe not permanently, but for now, yes.”
Hosanna.
Faith pried herself loose from Bootsie and went to find Sylvia. She definitely had to go home, or lie down, or find a bathroom, or throw up. The only other time she ever remembered feeling like this was before Ben was born.
She stopped dead in her tracks and did some counting. My God, she thought, I'm pregnant! She had never had morning sickness, just night. Her joy was slightly clouded by the memory. Then she felt happy—what a Christmas present for Tom—conflicted—what about the business?—strong—I'll manage—and terrified. She looked for a chair, then decided she'd better go call Tom to come get her. It was early and he could pop Ben in the car. There was no way she could drive feeling like this.
She left the room, which was now filled with all the residents, volunteers, family, and friends. There was plenty of laughter, and couples were starting to dance.
Tom answered on the fourth ring. It must be a close game.
“Honey, I'm sorry to bother you, but do you think you
could come and pick me up? I'm not feeling well. A bit mal de mer.”
“Faith! Do you think this could be—”
“Possibly.” His elation leaped over the wires, but the room was beginning to spin and she wanted him to come quickly. “In fact, more than possibly. We'll talk about it later. I'm going to go upstairs and lie down until you come. I'll come down in, what, about twenty minutes? No, thirty—you've got to get Ben into his snowsuit.”
“Oh, darling, this is the best news. I can't believe it. I won't keep you. Go take care of yourself and we'll be there as fast as we can. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Faith hung up the phone and staggered to the elevator. She'd go into the annex and find an empty room. The guest room had lost whatever appeal it might have once had. First she got her coat. She seemed to be freezing.
Upstairs nothing was stirring, not even a mouse. She opened a door and peeked in the darkened room. Something white and filmy was silhouetted against the window. It was hovering over the bed.
Farley's ghost!
She started to back out of the door and run.
The ghost stood up. It wasn't Christmas Past.
It was Roland Hubbard.
Roland Hubbard in a tum-of-the-century nurse's uniform complete with wimple.

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