The Body in the Lighthouse (23 page)

Persis and Harold were enemies of KSS, however. Just how involved was Linda—and how crazy?

Faith took a deep breath.

“I understand you're a member of Keep Sanpere Sanpere.” She just couldn't say the acronym. The place was all wrong.

“I am. What's happening to the island—and it's not just the developers—is a crime. In ten years, it will be Bar Harbor.” Linda was recovering fast.

“I agree with all this, but not with the kinds of things you do,” Faith said. “Destroying property…”

Linda burst into tears again. She wasn't as tough a Jersey girl as Faith had supposed.

“Maybe we went a little too far in the beginning,” she said, trying to collect herself. “But we stopped. Or at least I did, and I'm pretty sure Terri and Don did, too.”

“Tell me about it. When did you stop and what had you done?”

“We wanted to make a statement. Sanpere doesn't realize what's happening. They just think that these people are going to bring in tax money, but they're not taking the longer view. I mean, after the first year, the money goes mostly to the state, and then—”

Faith interrupted the diatribe.

“What did you do, Linda?”

She looked at the floor and mumbled, “I spray-painted the slogans on that big house going up in Bonneville. It was last May. And I…well, I helped set a fire, a very small fire, in an oil drum on the site. How could we know it would get blown over and spread to the trees?”

“Was that it?”

“Almost. I was doing some more spray painting one night in June. I told Don no more fires, and he agreed. It turned out I was the only one there. I don't know why the other people didn't show up. Don said later that I had the wrong
night. Well, that's possible. I do lose track of time, especially in the summer….”

She lost track of her train of thought, too, and Faith pulled her back on the rails.

“What happened that night?”

“Someone caught me and I said I'd never do it again. I wasn't comfortable with it anyway. I mean, I thought speaking at meetings and writing articles for the paper made more sense. I guess I was glad I got caught, because I told Don it was just too dangerous and I wasn't going to do it anymore.”

“Who caught you?”

“Kenny. Kenny Sanford.”

Kenny—Persis's son. This was getting as tangled as the pile of old line next to Freeman's shed. He kept meaning to sort through it one of these days. Unlike the rope, this knotty mess had to be sorted right away.

“What did he say to you?”

“Not much. He's not a big talker, but he said he wouldn't tell anyone, and I'm sure he didn't. Otherwise, I'd have known about it.”

This was true, Faith realized, but if he'd told his mother, it might explain why she was so sure Linda and KSS had doctored her Moxie.

“What about the Osborns—did they stop, too?”

“They said they did, but things kept happening. The place on the old quarry road…”

“And the dummy with a knife in its heart,” Faith added, finishing for her.

“That was definitely not KSS. None of us would do anything like this—and none of us attacked you, either.” Linda's voice had recovered some strength and she sounded stubbornly sure.

“But do you know everyone who is a member?”

“Most of them. We had meetings in the beginning—to strategize. Don ran them. He told me a few weeks ago that some of the summer people had joined, but I don't know who in particular, because we'd stopped the meetings.”

Faith remembered Linda's telephone conversation backstage after Hapswell's death.

“I happened to be in the hall when you got that call the day after Harold died. I overheard you arranging to meet someone at nine o'clock to get your stories straight. You said, ‘If they came to you, they'll come to me.' What was that about?”

Linda's face flushed. “Nothing to do with Harold. The timing was a coincidence. The state police had been looking into the arson at Seth Marshall's work site and they'd questioned Don. He figured they'd come to me, too, and wanted to warn me. Terri is wicked jealous, though she has no reason to be. Don is crazy about her, always has been. But he didn't want me coming to the house. When we had KSS business, we'd meet on that beach where I saw you and your kids. We were there that night, too—the night Seth's office got torched—and Don didn't want the police to know. He was sure Terri would find out that he was with me and misconstrue things. He'd told
them he was in Ellsworth—which he had been earlier, before driving straight to the beach—and I was to say I was home. Which I was—mostly.”

Faith thought about Don Osborn—stocky, Brillo hair and beard. Not her first pick for Lothario of the island, yet it appeared he was to his wife. And Linda? Trysts on the beach. She was finding it hard to believe that all the meetings involved KSS and not kiss.

“I'm very fond of Don, but he's not my type.” Linda was chatting confidentially now, as if she and Faith were having a slumber party. She'd be asking Faith to do her hair and nails soon. Not that Faith wouldn't love to see Linda with a semblance of a hairstyle and nails less ragged.

Faith sighed. She was no closer to getting what Earl wanted than when she'd entered the cell. True, Linda had broken her fast, but they hadn't touched the real main course.

“Linda, let's say I believe you. Believe you were framed for Persis's murder…”

“I was!”

“Okay, let's accept that as a fact. Then who did it? Who framed you? Who killed Persis?”

“I haven't got the slightest idea,” the woman said dismally. “I guess you'd better find me a lawyer.”

 

The Fairchilds were finally able to move into their house. They worked all day Friday, assembling the rest of their furniture and nesting in general. As Faith made beds and improved on Lyle's idea
of broom-clean, she ran through every possibility she could think of that didn't include Linda as Persis's murderer. The Osborns had the best reason to want both Harold and Persis dead. Sanpere Shores would spoil their view. People have been known to kill for less, Faith thought. Plus, they were ecofanatics. With Linda as prime suspect, they could easily be thinking they would get away with it. Of course the note from Persis that Linda had described was nowhere to be found. Earl searched the cabin and surrounding area. The Osborns were a short kayak or canoe trip away. Easy to leave the note; easy to retrieve it. They went out almost every day, she'd heard, so no one at the lobster pound would think anything of seeing them on the water. Either craft could put in anywhere, then a quick dash to Linda's. Did Terri frame Linda, believing she was having an affair with Don? Did Don alone frame Linda to thwart the developers' plans? Linda hadn't heard about Victoria Hapswell's plans to sell to Persis, but that didn't mean the Osborns hadn't. It was simply a question of being in the IGA or post office at the right time on Monday. But supposedly, these people didn't even kill mosquitoes. Then again, they seemed to believe very strongly that the end justifies the means and they may have treasured insects more highly than Persis. What did she contribute to the web of life, after all?

Faith kept thinking about the photograph. Why was it placed in Persis's hand? Or had the murderer handed it to her while she was still alive?
She thought for a moment about Kenny. Was Harold Kenny's father—or Don Osborn? Both men were the right age and both had been among Persis's summertime beaux. But this was the kind of gossip that would be common knowledge on Sanpere, since both men lived here. And Ursula didn't know who Kenny's father was. By extension, that meant the Sewing Circle didn't know. She stopped scrubbing the tub and sat back on her heels. Don had always taken an interest in Kenny, employing him as a caretaker. The two were close. Could Persis have just now revealed to Don he was Kenny's father? Earth Mother Terri looked so calm, but according to Linda, she was a tigress when it came to her man. Did Don kill Persis to save his marriage?

It was the only thing that made sense. When Tom arrived with fish sandwiches—each one appeared to contain an entire deep-fried crunchy haddock filet with lettuce, tomato, and plenty of tartar sauce—he had news that clinched it.

“Don Osborn is going to buy Sanpere Shores from Hapswell's widow. Apparently, the ‘intent to sell' document was a valid agreement only between Persis and Victoria. Even if Kenny wanted to pursue it, which I seriously doubt he'd ever want to do, it wouldn't apply to him, even as Persis's heir.”

“What about the lighthouse?” Faith asked immediately.

“I didn't hear anything about that. I only heard this because someone at the take-out counter was
mentioning that he thought KSS would be starting a fund to help with Linda's legal bills. The woman next to him laughed and said she thought the only real money any of the KSS people had would be tied up now, because Donald was going to buy Butler's Point.”

The rest of the afternoon Faith debated whether to call Earl and tell him her theory. That night, falling asleep for the first time in her new bedroom—looking straight out into the night sky and the dark pines, feeling as if she were perched in a very comfortable tree house, she decided there was someone she needed to talk to first.

 

She didn't have to invent an excuse. She wanted Kenny Sanford to make them a chest of drawers, hoping he'd have time now that he wasn't working on their house. She hadn't been able to find one that would fit below the long windows in the bedroom. The cabinetry he'd done—enclosing the sinks in the bathrooms and some finishing work—showed he was up to the job. In any case, the chest she wanted was a simple one. Saturday afternoon, on the spur of the moment, she drove to the Sanford house outside Granville, armed with measurements and a rough sketch. Tom had gone back to the Pines with the kids for a sail with Arnie Rowe. He'd arrived the day before with his wife and planned to spend as much time on the water as possible, as he did every year.

She was disappointed not to see Kenny's truck in the driveway at the end of the dirt road that led
to the house from Route 17. Persis's big Cadillac had been returned, though, and Faith felt her throat close over as she thought of the vibrant presence who would never get behind the wheel again. Persis had loved everything she did, from selling houses to playing Juliet's nurse—and driving her Caddie at breakneck speed. It was true: The island wasn't the same without her.

About to get back into her own car—a Honda with relatively little personality—Faith decided to leave Kenny a note. Easier for him to get in touch with her. She'd leave the drawing and dimensions. She went around to the back door, which was open, as she'd expected. In the last day or two the island population had returned to normal—leaving their latches up. Persis and Kenny had probably never locked theirs in the first place, though. Persis had not been afraid of anything—and she should have been.

The kitchen was small and spotless. There was a glass, one plate, and knife and fork in the dish drainer. A bowl of plastic fruit graced the kitchen table, plus an array of baked goods, which indicated the women of the island had sprung into action. No doubt the fridge and freezer were full, too. Persis's funeral was scheduled for Monday. The table was Formica from the fifties; it would bring a fortune in New York City. The linoleum was much older than that and the pattern had been almost obliterated by frequent scrubbing. She stepped into the living room. It was crammed with an incongruous assortment of furniture—a
La-Z-Boy in front of a very large TV, surrounded by several uncomfortable horsehair pieces. Small tables, one with a marble top, impeded movement, and a huge china closet took up half of one wall. Doilies abounded; either Persis and her mother had had the knack or they'd been regulars at the Sanpere Stitchers fair. A lamp in the shape of a lighthouse sat on a round table that had been placed in front of a big plate-glass window facing the ocean. The Sanfords had a view, and someone had installed this window to take advantage of it, replacing what must have been a small three up and three down like the others in the room. The only book in the room was a photograph album on the table. Telling herself it made sense to wait a little while for Kenny, Faith opened the book and started leafing through the pages. Each picture was meticulously identified in the beginning, starting with a formal wedding shot of Persis's parents and moving quickly to Persis at birth and every step of the way thereafter. She had been a beautiful baby, and her beauty bloomed throughout her childhood. She was an only child, and her doting father was the photographer, appearing in a few rare shots. But her mother was in many, her arm around her daughter, whose long curls had been brushed into shining ringlets. Teenaged Persis appeared at clambakes, holidays, and notably as queen of the prom. There were several more, but they weren't labeled. Faith remembered hearing that Persis's father had died when she was a teenager. That
probably explained the drop in the number of photos and even the lack of captions, some of which had been of the “Aren't I cute?” nature. Her mother would not have felt like it. She turned the page and saw an empty spot. A photo had been removed. Judging from the corners left in the album, it was exactly the same size as the one that had been found in Persis's hand. Faith examined the others on the page. They were of another clambake. So the photo had been taken on Sanpere here. Taken one summer when Harold and Persis were an item. How had her mother liked that? She kept turning the pages, expecting the whole process to begin again with Kenny—Kenny at birth, first steps, and so on. But there were only two pictures of Kenneth Sanford in the rest of the book. She checked again. One was taken on Santa's lap—a pale, terrified-looking four-year-old—and the other a solemn graduation shot. All the rest continued to be of Persis—Persis at various community functions, four pages for each Fourth of July parade where she'd been the Grand Marshal. Faith turned back to the page with the missing picture, studying the empty space.