The Body in the Sleigh (23 page)

 

At Bethany Farm, the scene inside the house and outside ricocheted off each other. Dashing to the window, Miriam saw a woman near a car at the end of the drive followed by Ralph. Duane had pulled up his truck behind them and was lumbering through the snow. They were moving slowly. Ralph weighed closer to three hundred pounds than two hundred and Duane was no Kate Moss. The woman, unencumbered by excess weight and in the lead, was nonetheless staying close to them.

Miriam felt unnaturally calm.

“Their names are Duane and Ralph and they want the money I left with you for Christopher. They also want to kill me.”

Mary was dialing 911.

“Get your boots on and wrap the baby under your jacket. Go straight through the woods to the Harveys. Where we went to bring some squash last summer. Go by the shore, just in case you have to use the canoe. The Reach isn't frozen solid. The canoe's under a blue tarp.”

“I can't let you do this!” Miriam said.

“Don't waste time, just get out of here! You've got to get Christopher away from them! I'll give them the money.”

Out in the snow, Faith was eyeing the thick stand of tamaracks close to the house. The two men's labored breathing was audible. She could definitely outrun them in this deep snow and warn Mary. As she'd imagined earlier, the trees would provide cover and she could go in through the shed. If the money was in the house, they could toss it out a window and that might satisfy them. It was a vain hope, but it was the only plan she had.

She was at the trees before the men knew what was happening.

“Hey! Stop! Dammit!” Ralph yelled and she heard the shot, which missed her. The next one might not and she sprinted for the shed, a streak of color against the white snow—a moving target.

Safely through the kitchen door, Faith almost collided with Miriam, who was standing immobilized as Mary pushed her boots at her.

“Go with her, Faith! Take the baby! I've called 911 and told them the house was on fire and we needed police and an ambulance too. I'll stay and give them the money.”

Sirens, lots of sirens. Faith only hoped the volunteers would get there in time.

Faith grabbed Miriam and that action roused her into action. She shoved her boots on and headed for the back door. They could hear the men's voices closing in on the house.

“Hurry!” Faith cried.

“You take the baby,” Miriam said, pulling on her parka and handing Christopher in his sling to Faith. At the door, Miriam called to Mary, “Don't stall. Tell them where the money is right away and follow us! You don't know what they can do!”

Outside, the sun was almost blinding. The two women ran toward the woods across the old pasture behind the house.

“I think it's Miriam! She was here and she's getting away!” yelled Ralph. He called to Duane, “Come on!”

“There's someone in the house,” Duane said. “I saw the curtains move. She may be trying to trick us into following somebody else. I'm going in! You follow those two.” He was at the front door and started kicking at it. “Open up, bitch. We know you're there!”

Inside, Mary decided to ignore Miriam's advice. The longer she could keep them out, the farther ahead the others would get. Ralph had stopped running—to catch his breath—and was looking toward the house to see what Duane was doing.

The door was solid oak and Mary had hopes it would last until help arrived.

“Sonofabitch!” Duane hopped on one foot, rubbing the toe of his boot, then went back to the truck for something stronger. He saw Ralph and yelled, “What are you waiting for? Keep going, asshole!”

Ralph took off again; the two figures were in plain sight, but nearing the woods. Duane shook his head and smacked his fist on the side of the truck before he reached into the bed to get a crowbar. He didn't know what was going on. Mostly his life was pretty simple. He got what people wanted, gave it to people to sell, and they handed over a lot more money than he had paid in the first place. Maine. What kind of a place was this? Nothing but trees and maybe moose. That's what he'd told Bruce two years ago when he wanted to leave Massachusetts and start up the business here. Volume. That was the point. Bruce had convinced him there were plenty of people looking for what they had to offer and he'd been right. Not as straight with them as he should have been, but he and Ralph had taken care of that. Bruce wouldn't be skimming off the top anymore.

Duane retraced his steps. No, he didn't like not knowing what was going on. He felt better thinking about what he was going to do to Miriam when he got her—and he would get her.

“Who are they?” Faith managed to gasp as they neared the woods and safety.

“Drug dealers, big-time on the East Coast. They think I stole some money from them.”

There was no mistaking the sound that split the air. Faith had heard it earlier; Miriam hadn't.

“Oh, shit,” said Miriam. “Ralph's got a gun.”

 

As soon as Mary saw Duane approach her door with the crowbar, she opened it.

“There's no need to damage my property. What do you want?”

“Fer sure I'm not here for a friggin' cup of coffee. Now get Miriam and get the money.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Mary said. Help was on the way.

Duane took a step toward Mary and grabbed her wrist. Then, hearing the sound of the goats from the barn, he leered at her.

“Like animals, do you? Think I'll take a look at the critters.”

“No!” Mary cried, pulling free. “Don't you dare go near my goats! I'll give you the money. Miriam isn't here. She ran off when you drove up. You could see that.”

“Well, now, this is much better. Ralph will take care of Miriam. Okay, grandma, let's get the cash—and it had better all be there.”

“You stay here; I'll bring it to you.” Where was the fire truck? Why hadn't at least one volunteer arrived yet?

“No, I think we'll stick together.”

“It's in the barn.” Mary hated to bring him anywhere near her nannies. They'd be upset for days, but there was no choice.

When she opened the door, the goats' bleating increased. Just as she feared, they were panicking. It was as if they knew exactly what was happening. Mary paused to try to calm them, but Duane told her to hand over the money and hand it over fast.

She walked over to a pile of small square bales of hay—she bought it like this rather than in the rolls, because it was easier for her to handle. Easy to handle the other day when she'd hollowed out the middle of one and replaced the straw with the money.

“Here.” She shoved the packet at him. “Now get out.”

Duane opened it up. “Looks like it's all here, but I think I'll just count it to make sure. Could be you wanted to use some of it
for a new billy goat.” He laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound. Mary didn't correct him as to the gender of her herd. The longer he took the better. She was straining to hear the sirens, but the only sound was her goats' piteous racket, louder than ten fire engines.

“Now, now, what's this?” Duane snarled. “There's two thousand dollars missing!”

“I don't know anything about that,” Mary said firmly, backing away from him. “I haven't touched that money since I put it there.”

“So I guess you musta taken it out before then.” He reached into his pocket and took out a Buck knife, flicking it open. “That little goat over there. He needs a haircut.”

 

Faith knew they were close to the shore. There had been a couple more shots, but since Ralph had to look down to follow their tracks, they'd been able to keep ahead of him. Mary's canoe was under a blue tarp. You could find just about anything under a blue tarp in Maine. Miriam tugged at it, freed the canoe, and dragged it to the shore. Mary had been right. The water in the Reach wasn't frozen the way it was in the smaller coves. There were chunks of ice, but they'd be able to get the canoe in—and then what? Faith certainly hoped Miriam knew how to paddle, because otherwise they were sunk.

“Get in! Grab a paddle and go! I'll push us off!”

Christopher had started to cry. Faith felt like crying herself, but saved it for later. The canoe teetered in the water. She didn't even want to think about what would happen if they capsized. A minute, two minutes in water this temperature?

Miriam was moving them along with strong, swift strokes. Faith tried to match the rhythm, but gave up and concentrated on calming the baby.

A bullet hit the water just behind them. Ralph was screaming
at them from the shore. He emptied the gun as they pulled farther and farther out of range. Around the corner of one of the points of land that extended like gnarled fingers into the current, Faith could see the Harveys' dock. They were safe. And the emergency rescue vehicles must have arrived at the farm by now. Mary was safe too.

 

Mary
was
fine, but Duane was suffering from a nasty bite on the hand from Dora, the queen, who had been very curious about the bright shiny object in his hand. She'd slid through the gate from the stall that he hadn't closed properly when he'd reached for the kid, and lunged to explore the blade, encountering instead Duane's very fleshy palm. Before he could do more than just shove at the 180-pound pride of Mary's herd, the fire department, rescue corps, and a state police officer all poured through Mary's barn door. They arrested Duane immediately and sat down to wait for Ralph and the officer who'd gone after him. One of the volunteers took pity on Duane and poured more than enough iodine on his open wound before bandaging it.

 

“We can call the farm from the Harveys', and as soon as we reach Mary, they'll drive us back.” Faith was nuzzling Christopher's tiny head, which seemed to be keeping him quiet.

Miriam maneuvered the canoe toward the dock, and Faith grabbed a line tied to the end of it, pulling them in alongside.

“Maybe we should put the canoe on the dock. No, it won't be here for long. We can moor it and someone will take it back to Mary.” She stepped out and reached to help Miriam. The expression on the girl's face troubled her. They were safe. All of them. Why did Miriam look so sad?

Miriam fleetingly wondered what it would be like to be Faith
Fairchild. Mary had told her all about Faith this morning. Her life sounded perfect—happy marriage, kids, job, a direction in life. She sighed.

“Look, Faith, this is where I get off. Or rather, you get off.”

“What!” Faith exclaimed.

“I'm not like you or Mary. I'm not a good girl. And I certainly wouldn't be a good mother.”

“It's Bruce, isn't it?” Faith said. The cold dread she'd felt since hearing about the murder gave way to cold certainty.

“Kind of. I didn't kill him, though, if that's what you mean.”

“Then who did? Those men? Duane and Ralph?”

“Pretty much. They got their licks in first. Bruce was holding out on them and they made sure he wouldn't do it again, but no, they didn't kill him. He was the proverbial golden goose for them and their gang. But, believe me, you don't need to know about this. Tell Mary that Christopher is hers. I left a letter in an envelope in the drawer where she keeps her dish towels. If that's not enough to convince the state, I'll sign whatever they want. Help her get a lawyer. She's got plenty of money. It was mine; don't let the cops have it.”

By now Miriam was convinced the money was hers—wages for all the housekeeping and accounting she'd done—and certainly Christopher's. His inheritance from his father and all he was ever going to get from him, thank God.

“I thought this was going to be a whole lot easier.” She sighed. “I decided last summer that I wanted Mary to be the baby's mother. When he was born, I wanted to give him to her even more. She's the best person I ever met. Tell her that. And also that the week I spent with her was the happiest in my life.”

“Then why go?” Faith had been picturing a perfect happily-ever-after. Mary and Miriam—the two Marys—raising Christopher, goats, and vegetables together on into the sunset.

“I'm only twenty-one years old. Even if I were a good person,
that's too young to have a child—at least for me. And I have to figure some things out, a lot of things.”

“What about your family? Your father?”

“There isn't any family now, never was much of one. But don't worry, Daniel Carpenter isn't going to try to get Christopher as a trinket for Brenda—that's my stepmother, or rather, his wife—or a male someone to continue the sainted Carpenter line. Be sure Mary changes his name to hers.”

Faith had so many questions, but Miriam was already untying the line.

“How can you be certain that he won't take legal action to get his grandson?”

Miriam hesitated for a moment, then said, “Because, good, kind Mrs. Fairchild, Daddy finished what Duane and Ralph started. I got there just in time to see him go nuts when Bruce managed to pull a knife on him, thinking he was their backup, and the knife ended up in Bruce. Self-defense? Helps to have a witness for that. What I did witness was the way he wiped his prints off and left in a big hurry. Believe me, he'll tell Brenda the baby was ugly and threw up a lot—something like that. She'll be happy with another fancy dog or a few more diamond tennis bracelets and there'll be no more talk of babies.”

It was a scene Miriam would never quite be able to obliterate from her mind.