“Of course, after he died, he became a saint and it was âthe doctor this,' âthe doctor that.' But we all knew and felt sorry for them. Which of course they hated. There was really just no way things could work out as they wanted. Unless of course all the females between Eleanor and the inheritance died. When I realized this, I knew she was the killer.”
“But,” protested Faith, “she seemed to have so many friends here and she was always so kind.”
“When their mother died, Rose and Eleanor did come out of their shells, particularly Rose, who was always the more social of the two. It was a shame she never married, but her mother didn't think anyone was good enough for her. Rose got Eleanor out and active in things. Of course they had always gone to church,” she assured Tom.
“After Rose died, Eleanor seemed all right, but I began to notice that she was very touchy about certain things, anything to do with Rose's memory, for example.”
“She said Cindy had hurt Rose's feelings once. I think in her mind that justified the murder,” Faith told them.
“Cindy called them âdried-up old maids' supposedly out of their hearing, but in a loud enough voice to be sure they did hear. Eleanor didn't particularly care, I imagine, but it must have hurt Rose bitterly, since she had had her chances and was always very pretty.”
Dunne had leaned forward. “So what you're saying,
Millie, is that Eleanor began to lose touch with reality after Rose died. She put her up there with the rest of the family in her shrine.”
Millicent beamed. “Exactly. And Eleanor must have believed that she had been cheated out of her birthright. This was what I wanted to tell you and I thought you might want to borrow my books on the family,” she added generously to one so obviously in tune.
Faith poured herself some more champagne and reached for a brownie before she thought better of it. When lightning did not strike John Dunne dead on the spot for calling Millicent “Millie,” she knew for certain there were mysteries in life beyond our ken. Still, she wanted to find out more about the one to hand.
“I still don't know how you found out where we were,” she told him.
“Robert Moore called us at about seven o'clock. He had come home from work at six and discovered that Jenny wasn't there. He telephoned every friend of Jenny's he knew and had them all call around. It wasn't like her not to leave a note and he was worried. We started looking and then Tom called about a half an hour later. When we realized you were all missing with no word left for anyone, we knew it had to be connected. Especially after Tom told us you hadn't given up your campaign to embarrass the police by unveiling the murderer first.” He gave Faith a sidelong glance. “Which actually you did.”
“Are there awards for this?” Faith wondered.
“Faith, this isn't like merit badges, you know,” said Tom. “We were all frantic. I came home and assumed you were at Pix's or someplace and had lost track of the time. The car was here, so I knew you hadn't gone far. It was getting darker, though, and I began to feel uneasy. I started calling people.
“I even called Eleanor and she was very concerned.
She hadn't seen you, but could she help in any way? I was completely taken in.
“Then I phoned Charley and we all fanned out to search.”
Faith shuddered as she pictured them combing the areas, afraid of what they might or might not find.
Millicent picked up the thread. “The young man at the station told me that John and Charley might be at the church, so I ran over there.” Faith pictured Millicent trotting across the green as fast as her Enna Jet-tick's would allow.
“John was coming down the front stairs of the church and ⦔
Dunne interrupted, “She grabbed me by the arm and started pulling me toward the street. All she said was, âThey must be at Eleanor's and I pray they are still alive.' I called back to Dale Warren to get Charley and come back up over there, and we took off.
“I didn't want Millie to come in, but she just said I'd never find you and she was right. Or it would have taken a whole lot longer.
“Eleanor answered the door. If you can believe this, she had been out searching with the rest of us and had even brought some pies over to the church. She must have assumed we wanted more help and invited us in. We went into some kind of living room crammed with stuff and the place was as silent as the grave, pardon the expression. Before I had a chance to do anything, Millie here walks right up to her and says, âAll right, Eleanor, where are they? We know all about Cindy and Patricia, so you might as well tell us what you've done with Faith and Benjamin and Jenny.'
“Eleanor just folded her arms across her chest and said, âIf you're so smart, Millicent Revere McKinley, you can figure it out for yourself.'
“Millie looked at her and I was about to have the guys
start searching the house, when she said, âIt's got to be the preserves closet. The attic has windows. Follow me.' And you know the rest.”
Faith felt a little foolish. Millicent was Millicent, true, but she was also a hell of a smart woman and brave. Just like her ancestors, if she was to be believedâand Faith rather suspected she was.
After that it was Faith's turn and she was duly admired for her valiant efforts to escape.
“I wondered where that pie crust table was,” mused Millicent. “You must have broken it, Faith. I'm sure Eleanor was quite upset.”
“She's not going to need a tea service or table where she's going,” said Pix grimly. She had moved her chair close to Faith's as Faith was recounting the hours in the closet and her efforts to locate a window. She looked as though she would have liked to take Faith in her lap, like one of her children or dogs, and hold her tight. Both sets of parents had been alternately losing and gaining color since Dunne had started filling them in.
“But why didn't Robert say something about Eleanor? Surely Patricia must have told him she suspected her?” Faith suddenly remembered.
Charley answered, “Apparently Patricia never mentioned anything about Eleanor to him, Faith. And we don't know for sure that Patricia herself suspected her cousin. It could be that she wanted to tell us something completely different, maybe something about some man and Cindy. This is a part of the puzzle we'll never know.”
“I don't want to contradict you, Charley,” Millicent interrupted. Could Faith be hearing correctly? Contradiction was the spice of life to Millicentâor Millie, as she seemed to be now. “But I am pretty certain that Patricia did suspect Eleanor. If
I
tumbled onto it, I know she must have too and probably sooner, since she
knew her better. I think she must have been absolutely horrified that a member of her own family could have committed a murder. So horrified that she couldn't talk about it to anybody. Patricia was certainly not an ancestor worshipperârather an odious trait I've always thoughtâ” Pause while the audience sat suspended in disbelief. “Yet she was proud of them and I'm sure she found it difficult to share her fears about Eleanor, even with Robert. To be sure, it is rather a terrible thing to suspect that someone you know may be a murderer,” she concluded, shooting a rapierlike glance at Faith.
Faith saw the scene on the deck in New Hampshire and heard Patricia's voice. She knew Millicent was right. Patricia was trying to protect Eleanor. She must never have suspected the full extent of her madness. It was also possible she wasn't sure and hoped the police would prove her wrong. Faith's mind whirled.
“So it was just a coincidence that Eleanor killed her on a Friday and after Patricia left the message for you?”
“Unless Eleanor herself opens up, which is unlikely if her behavior at the house is anything to go by, that's another thing we'll never know,” Charley said in a resigned tone.
Faith wasn't resigned at all. “I thought when you solved one of these things, all became clear! What about the dénouement in the drawing room?”
She was still protesting an hour later, but it wasn't about crime.
“Oh, Tom, I feel so cozy, I don't want to budge, but I don't think I can stay awake any longer.”
They were back on the couch, where they had immediately headed after everyone had gone and the phone had stopped ringing with calls from friends and just about every newspaper in New England. Faith agreed to a press conference together with Charley, Dunne, and
Millicent the next morning and begged them to leave her alone for the rest of the night, although she realized the publicity for
Have Faith
would be worth its weight in gold.
Her parents had gone to stay with Tom's and would be back in the morning. They had seemed uneasy about letting her out of their sight even overnight. Aunt Chat was in Spain as planned and they sent a cable in case some of the news services picked it up for the
International Herald Tribune
. (They didn't, though, and a much puzzled Chat called the following day to wonder why she had received a message, “Faith fine. Don't worry.”)
Faith was almost asleep and the stairs to the bedroom seemed as impossible to climb as the ones in Eleanor's basement. They had resisted the impulse to wake Benjamin to be sure he was all right and not traumatized in any way. They had talked. And now they were just holding on to each other. For dear life.
“Faith,” murmured Tom when they were in bed, “I don't want you ever to do anything like this again. I can't take it. Promise?”
Faith's thoughts drifted over the events of the last few weeks. She hadn't been all that bad as a sleuth, but Tom was undoubtedly right. Besides, it was exceedingly unlikely that anything like this would happen in Aleford a second time.
“I promise, darling,” she said. With her fingers crossed. Just in case.