The Body in the Wardrobe (11 page)

“I'll start going to Mass again now. Sitting there reminded me why it was important to me. My faith, that is.” She darted a look filled with compassion at Sophie. “I said a little prayer for you. I know you had that awful nightmare or whatever it was. I prayed for it not to come back.”

Amen, Sophie said to herself, adding—it was a nightmare, but it wasn't a dream. She gave Ruth's arm a quick squeeze, and they headed back to pick up the threads of their workaday world.

When Faith got back from the cemetery, she called the Millers to tell Pix she was back. A few minutes later Amy's woebegone face appeared at the kitchen door. Faith opened it quickly and took her daughter in her arms. That was apparently all Amy needed to unleash the day's emotions, and she started sobbing.

Faith steered her to the window seat by the big round kitchen table and let her cry. After a while the tempest began to pass. Faith detached herself to get Amy a glass of juice and a box of Kleenex.

“Honey, what happened?”

Amy gulped some juice and then sat for a while without saying anything. Faith was beginning to think being so direct was the wrong tack when Amy took a deep breath and started speaking.

“It was stupid.
I
was stupid. Nobody did anything. I wasn't late, but I was the last one to history class. The doors have glass on top and I looked in at all of them and it felt like they were looking back at me with these faces like ‘what is
she
doing here?' And I began to feel really bad.” Amy's words began to accelerate, crashing into one another, the wreck ahead just waiting to happen. “I couldn't move. I couldn't go in and couldn't not go in, and then
I stopped breathing and thought I was going to pass out. I don't remember running, but I must have because I was at one of the outside doors. I just had to get some air. Mom, I never saw that it was an emergency exit! You believe me, right? The principal kept saying I must have seen the sign on the door, but I didn't.”

“Of course I believe you!” Faith hugged Amy harder and began to angrily rehearse in her mind what she'd say to Anthony Frazer later. “What you had is something called a panic attack. You wouldn't have noticed a brass band, let alone something posted on a door. Everybody has them, hopefully once in a blue moon when things in life start to pile up on you. And your body does feel as if it's going to pass out. You
did
need fresh air, but it wasn't oxygen so much as carbon dioxide. Maybe you learned about this in science. That's why when this happens people breathe into a paper bag.”

“Better stock up,” Amy said wryly. Faith took the remark as a good sign.

“It's not going to happen again soon, if ever,” she said. “You mustn't worry about it. Instead we have to try to figure out what to do about school.”

Amy appeared skeptical. “They all hate me, Mom. I honestly don't know why. I never did anything to them except be new at their precious school.”

Faith said, “I know that this girl Cassie has a lot of influence, but I'm sure there are kids who don't care what she and her friends think. Kids who go their own way?”

“If there are, I haven't found them.” Amy sounded resigned. “Mom, the principal said I could be arrested for setting off the alarm and that there is a big fine.” Her eyes widened.

Good job, Tony,
scare the poor child to death after what was a horrible incident.

“He's wrong, honey. If you are okay to sit here for a bit, I need to make a call or two and we can clear this part up.”

She went to use the phone in Tom's study, having settled Amy with more juice, a plate of oatmeal chocolate chip “comfort”
cookies, and the not-for-school book Amy was currently reading, James Klise's
The Art of Secrets
.

As she dialed, she thought that this was a time when she was particularly happy to live in Aleford, a small community. The retired chief of police was a close friend, and the current one as well. Faith was known to the force—in a good way. She was put through immediately.

“Hi, Brian, it's Faith Fairchild. I imagine you already know, but my daughter accidentally set off the fire alarm at Hancock earlier today. She was feeling sick and pushed the door to get outside for some air without seeing the sign.”

“Thought it must be something like that. I'll let the fire department know. Hancock hasn't had a fire drill for a while, so that's what we'll call it. I'll tell Frazer, too.” Faith wished Amy could hear the chief's calm voice. It was no biggie to him. “Hope Amy feels better. There's a nasty stomach bug going around and it would be a shame if she was sick for Christmas. Can't believe it's just a week away. Have to come up with something for the wife instead of hitting CVS Christmas Eve as usual.”

Apparently this was the favorite shopping venue for gift-challenged husbands. So that was why there was always a big display of cosmetic gift sets near the shaving cream aisle.

“I'll tell her and many thanks,” Faith said. Although she had thought this is what Brian would say, she was extremely relieved.

“No problem. Come by after the holidays and I'll show you the jazzy new fingerprint machine we have.”

“Will do. Bye.”

Amy looked up from her book as Faith returned. She'd been crying again and her cheeks were streaked with tears. “I have a lot of babysitting money saved up if I do have to pay a fine. It was for the rest of my Christmas presents, but I was going to make some anyway—”

Faith cut in. “There's no fine, no arrest. Chief Mooney understood completely and hopes you feel better soon.” She put
her hand on her daughter's forehead. “I think it could be that you
are
coming down with something. Let's go upstairs and take your temperature.”

Amy brightened. “So it maybe wasn't one of those attack things and I have the flu?”

“Exactly,” Faith said firmly, and it was what she planned to tell the principal, too, as soon as she tucked Amy into bed.

Ben burst in the back door after school. “My little sister pulled a fire alarm and the whole department showed up! What the f— I mean, heck!”

“She was sick and didn't see the sign, just had to get outside.” The principal had listened patiently to Faith's explanation, which she had delivered in as even a tone as she could muster.

“Oh,” Ben said. He looked slightly disappointed. “Well, it's gross when kids throw up in the hallway so I guess she did the right thing.”

“Absolutely—and please spread the word tomorrow.”

“Where is she now? In bed? I don't want to catch it.”

“Nice show of sympathy, sweetie. Yes, she's in bed, and I don't think you'll catch it. I'm keeping her home tomorrow, though.” Faith did not reveal that the principal had nevertheless extended Amy's suspension by a day. Before hanging up, she'd countered that she had planned to keep her daughter, who was running a temperature and showing flu-like symptoms, home in any case. Amy
did
have a temp, 99.6, probably from all the crying.

Ben went off to do homework after opening the fridge and grabbing some food, pretty much a reflex. Faith made a mental note to get more milk—keeping a cow might keep them more reliably stocked.

Tom got home at five. He looked so tired that Faith hated to tell him about Amy. She poured him a Sam Adams in a chilled beer glass.

He smiled. “Thank you, but I already know my daughter set off a fire alarm at school.”

The Aleford grapevine, faster than a speeding bullet. Faith should have known.

“Bumped into Brian Mooney on my way to see Millicent. She wasn't at the funeral and that's not like her. Besides, Ursula ambushed me as I was leaving for the cemetery, wanting to know when I was going to drop by on ‘our Millicent.'”

Faith had never thought of Millicent as this sort of collective, but it was true—she was theirs, through thick or thin. She filled Tom in on what had happened at school and he went upstairs to see Amy, coming down almost immediately. “She's asleep. I don't like to say this is your department, but never having been a teenage girl, I am pretty much at a loss here.”

“I
was
one and I'm at a loss. If she could make just one friend that would do it.”

Tom sighed. “Wouldn't that have happened by now? The sad fact is that everybody sides with the bully so the bully won't target them.”

Faith hadn't told Tom she'd met the bully's mother and did so now. “It would only make things worse if I said something to her, but it's time to talk to one of the teachers or the guidance counselor. Obviously not the principal. I'll call Amy's teacher from last year. Maybe she knows someone at Hancock who would be approachable. Now, tell me about your visit to Millicent.”

Tom put his beer down. “She asked me what I would do if someone I respected had been lying to me for many years.”

Faith was stunned. Whoever it was who'd been lying to Millicent Revere McKinley was definitely going to what the lady herself called “H-E-double-hockey-sticks.”

Faith had had a very trying morning. Ben had texted his mother a link to Cassie's Facebook page, adding a sad face emoticon. The girl had posted the fire alarm story. She didn't use Amy's name, but Faith was sure everyone knew who it was. Adopting the role of citizen cop, Cassie said the perpetrator had committed a felony and should be punished to the full extent of the law for putting people at risk. She opined, “What will happen when there's a real emergency? It will be like ‘Crying Wolf.'” Future politician here? Faith wondered.

After texting thanks to Ben and taking a moment to feel good about whatever parenting skills Tom and she had employed to create a son who was this concerned about his sister, Faith poured herself a cup of coffee and went over the pros and cons of calling Cassie's mother. There was never really any question. This was not a time when she could keep her mouth shut.

It hadn't gone well.

There was silence for a moment after Faith explained why she was calling, asking Laetitia to please let Cassie know that no felony, or any other crime, had been committed. That the police were treating it as a fire drill. That Amy had been feeling extremely ill and was in fact home today.

The silence broke. “Now, Faith, I believe your daughter is home because she was suspended, and I'm sure the whole sorry business
has
made her sick. It was a very irresponsible thing to do.” Laetitia's voice was gently scolding.

So much for sisterhood, or rather motherhood. “Technically, yes, she was suspended, but she
does
have the flu.” Amy had thrown up twice in the night.

“I will correct Cassandra,” Laetitia said, restoring Faith's belief in humanity. “Amy committed a misdemeanor, not a felony.”

And then destroyed it. Faith gave one more try. “Facebook can be so hurtful.”

“I am shocked that you would imply that my daughter would do anything to hurt a fellow student—or anyone else. You do know she received the Outstanding Citizenship Award at school last year for her volunteer work.”

Faith had planned to suggest Cassie take the post down. It wasn't going to happen. Laetitia barreled on, her tone escalating from a scold to an indictment. “I do not police
my
daughters' online activities. I have never needed to, as they have demonstrated nothing but responsible behavior. Now, I am sorry but I am running late and must say good-bye. Happy holidays.”

And she hung up. “Running late” for what? Her nail appointment? It certainly wasn't a stint as the Welcome Wagon lady.

Sophie had taken the Friday off to do more Christmas shopping and pick up ingredients for dinner. Will had said he might be quite late. Whenever he did arrive, though, he'd be hungry. She decided to do New England clam chowder, but give it a Southern twist by substituting shrimp for clams and diced country ham for salt pork. With plenty of Old Bay, of course. She had an industrial-size tin of it now. The chowder would get better the longer it sat in the fridge.

Will had no need to count calories—the opposite, in fact—and
recalling how delicious the baked goods Patty Sue had brought were, Sophie decided to head for the Back in the Day bakery, too. When her cell rang and she saw it was Faith, she answered quickly. It had been awhile since they had talked.

“Is this a good time? You said you were working half days Friday, but I don't know which half.”

“This is perfect. I'm not going in at all today. No more Workaholic Sophie.”

“How is everything? Any corpses, poison pen letters, dirty tricks in general?”

“Nothing, but I can tell from your voice that something is going on there. What's happening?”

“Is it that obvious?” Faith replied with a sigh and told her about Amy's most recent adventure in the labyrinthine corridors of middle school complete with Minotaur.

“Have you thought about private school? I wish I could tell you this will all blow over, but I doubt it. A girl in my third grade class wet her pants when the substitute wouldn't let her go to the bathroom because she was saying ‘can I' instead of ‘may I.' Kids were asking her if she needed more Depends until we graduated from high school.”

“Private school has crossed my mind, especially because Aleford kids go to the regional high school, since we're such a small town. She could go to someplace like Concord Academy for these two years and then be in an entirely different milieu. It would be a very expensive solution, but we may have to consider it seriously if this keeps up.”

“I've heard Facebook has a strict policy about bullying,” Sophie said. “She can report the post as such and have it removed.”

“Ben mentioned that, too, but we both agreed it would make Cassie turn to other, possibly even worse, ways to attack.”

“‘Attack'! I can't imagine that anyone would pick on Amy like this. It makes me want to take the next plane and smack that queen bee up the side of her head!”

Faith laughed. “What a great image! Cassie in a bee costume with a tiara toppled from her throne, but sadly life doesn't imitate imagination. I suggested Amy close her Facebook account and take a break from it when someone, probably Cassie, posted about Amy saluting the flag—that was really evil, just when I'd thought I'd succeeded in making her proud of her newly developed boobies! She did, and I'm happy she hasn't seen the latest, but I'm not naive enough to believe that news of it won't reach her. Now, tell me about Savannah. It's supposed to be wonderful at Christmastime.”

“Beyond wonderful, although the best time so far has been staying in by the tree and in front of the fire last weekend when Will came home with a bad cold. He's better now and back in Atlanta.”

Sophie proceeded to tell Faith about Christmas on the River—a weekend-long craft fair on River Street culminating in fireworks, her visit to St. John's with Ruth, and how gorgeous the houses in the historic district looked, especially as so much was blooming. Nothing needed to be artificial to add color. And, she added, unlike Manhattan, everywhere she looked people were smiling, filled with the holiday spirit, and maybe other kinds of spirits as well.

“Have you had a chance to find out more about Will's grandmother?” Faith asked.

“Not yet, but we're going out to Bells Mills for Sunday dinner and I may get some time alone with my father-in-law. There are always so many people around, though.”

“And how about with Will himself during your cozy weekend together?”

“I tried. I tried to bring up the dead man, too—sitting on the couch, the wardrobe was pretty much directly over our heads in the front bedroom. I moved us to another bedroom in the back of the house right away, but if Will noticed he didn't say anything. When I started to talk about it this time he just said ‘Now, shug, don't worry about it.' Same when I brought up family history—
tried your idea of starting back in the nineteenth century and working up to more recent relatives, but that went nowhere, as well. I think we have a problem communicating, Faith.”

“No you don't, darlin'—I can do Southern, too, their endearments always sound so much more affectionate. Anyway, a good friend, my business partner Niki, set me straight years ago when Tom and I were avoiding an elephant in the room. I was complaining that he wouldn't talk and she came right back at me with ‘If you wanted someone for meaningful chats, it's not going to be a guy. Not in their DNA. That's why women have women friends. You'll get more and more frustrated if you expect otherwise.' And she was right.”

“Ian was chatty.”

“I rest my case,” Faith said. “It's not that men never communicate—they just do it differently. Think body language.

“But back to the body that went bump in the night. No police reports or anything about a missing person?” During the conversation following Sophie's gruesome discovery, Faith had advised her to read the police reports in the
Savannah Morning News,
online sites, and anywhere else information that might identify the victim was posted.

“Nothing. I'm still not convinced that the body wasn't stashed somewhere in the house with the killers. The police would have had to use a ladder to get into the attic. Gloria hadn't installed a pull-down one until recently. They'd have to have been quick, but could have used a ladder from the yard—they're still all over the place—and hoisted him up, pulling the ladder up, too.”

“And then while you were at Randy and Carlene's, they could have taken him out and gotten rid of the body—where?”

Sophie had thought this through as well. “We're very close to the river, easy to dump him in. But surely the corpse would have been found by now, washed up someplace?” Faith had more experience with this sort of thing, so Sophie put it as a question.

“Yes, unless they weighted him down.”

“The proverbial cement overshoes?”

They both laughed, and then Faith asked, “Have you seen Patty Sue lately?”

Sophie told her about her sister-in-law's visit to check up on whether Will was really sick. “She is so transparent. And someone with too much time and too little to do.”

“I thought she had a job—and doesn't she live in one big social whirl?”

“Her job at the art gallery seems to be an at-will one—Patty Sue's will that is. I've never caught sight of her there unless there's a back office you can't see from the street. And she must spend a lot of time shopping. I haven't seen her in the same thing twice. She doesn't mention work except when they're having a party for an opening. She's definitely a party girl.” Sophie remembered the way Patty Sue had gulped down her wine at what seemed like a very early hour of the day. “I think she may drink too much, but it's hard to say.”

“She's young and it
is
Savannah,” Faith said.

“I guess. Will is very fond of her. Maybe I should invite her to do something, just the two of us, and try to forget what happened.”

“But keep your guard up,” Faith warned. “Will is such a nice person, he may not be tuned in to some of his stepsister's little tricks.”

“He
is
nice,” Sophie said. She was missing him terribly.

“It's a shame he has to be in Atlanta so much.”

“I know. He did warn me that his job would sometimes take him away for extended periods of time, but he'd try to stay local as much as possible. And Atlanta isn't that far.” Although, Sophie thought to herself, as far as she was concerned it might as well be Alaska.

“Sophie.” Faith sounded a bit hesitant. “You don't think any of what's happening to you could have something to do with whatever case Will is working on?”

“I thought of that when I found the body, but Will isn't a Sherlock or whatever type of PI. The bad guys he goes after rub out entries, as in cooking the books, not people. I suppose if the stakes
are high enough, it could lead to murder. But I have no idea what this case is about. He's told me from the start that he wouldn't be able to discuss his work except in the most general terms.”

“Sounds like
my
marriage, and Tom's employer is very strict. Well, it was a thought. Now, go have fun shopping—and buy something for yourself!”

“Will do. I have my eye on a pair of shoes at this old-fashioned store on Broughton, the Globe Shoe Company. It's been there forever and the shoes are displayed in lighted wood cabinetry like gems. But forget Enna Jetticks. They have Cole Haan plus all the latest European manufacturers. The ones I'm lusting after are a pair of Stuart Weitzmans—a red satin ridiculously high-heeled pump with red crystals on the toe. Think: I caught Mommy kissing Santa Claus, but naughtier.”

Laughing some more, they said good-bye and hung up.

Armed with a list—Sophie was a great list maker—she stepped out into the Savannah morning sunshine, making sure to lock the house up tight. The contractor had been working on the backyard this week, telling her he didn't want to get in the way of her holiday preparations inside the house. Sophie had been touched by his thoughtfulness, and glad not to have the commotion, and dust. The gazebo was partly done, and enough shrubs and trees to set up a mini Longwood Gardens spilled out into the front of the house, waiting to be planted. You couldn't get even the sharpest shovel into the frozen ground back home, Sophie realized. Then corrected herself.
This
was home now.

The older woman who had had the presence of mind, and the information, to call Randy the night of The Body, the Switch, and the Wardrobe, as Sophie was calling it to herself, was in the square, walking her little dog, and Sophie went over to her.

“I wanted to thank you for calling my brother-in-law the other night.” She put out her hand. “I'm Sophie Maxwell.”

The woman took it. “And I'm Lydia Scriven. Pleased to meet you on a better occasion.”

She had a warm smile, and age had not diminished her beauty—her dark hair was only slightly streaked with gray and pulled tight off her face into a low cluster of braids, emphasizing her cheekbones and deep brown eyes flecked with gold. She looked like a sculpted head by Elizabeth Catlett that Sophie had seen in an exhibit of twentieth-century female African American artists.

“Yes, a much better one! I'm taking the whole day off. I had never been to Savannah before my marriage, so it's all wonderfully new—especially the weather. I'm from New England. A Yankee.”

Lydia gave her an appraising look. “I'm not much for labels. Let's just call you a happy new bride—I've seen you walking with your husband from my window and I can tell. Where are you off to now?”

“Finishing my Christmas shopping and picking up some things to cook for dinner.”

“Not one of those busy ladies relying on takeout and the microwave, I see.” Her smiled broadened. “I like to cook myself. If you want, I can share some of my Lowcountry recipes—surprise your new family.”