Free The Body In The Bog by Katherine Hall Page

business district. Who do you know who works there, Pix?” Faith asked.
    â€œCould also be that our writer has a sense of humor,” Charley interjected, on a roll. “Post Office Square, poison-pen letters—get it?”
    They did.
    â€œEvery lawyer, CPA—all those kinds of people—not working here in town works there, as far as I know. Including Sam.” Pix was depressed.
    Faith forgot that Sam’s law offices were on Congress Street. Yet surely he’d have no reason to mail a letter like this to his wife. Plus, he’d been out of town. Somebody in his office? But was there anyone who was familiar enough with Aleford to send the others, hoping maybe to divert attention from the intended target, if indeed Pix, or Sam himself, was it? It seemed unlikely.
    â€œDoes anyone else from town work with Sam?” she asked Pix.
    â€œOnly Ellen Phyfe—you know, Morris’s wife. She’s been the office manager for years. They moved to Aleford because she’d heard such good things about it from Sam.”
    Faith’s mind began to work furiously. Could Ellen have something against her boss? Faith had to know who else had received letters, and if Charley wasn’t going to tell her, she’d have to find out some other way. It looked like Tom was going to be avoiding cowpatties on his own this afternoon at Drumlin Farm. She planned to make some parish calls.
    â€œIf you got permission from the others to reveal their names, it might help to meet and establish some common ground,” Tom sensibly pointed out to Charley.
    â€œExactly what I’ve been doing. Okay with you, Pix?” Faith had finally put a mug of coffee into his waiting hand. He took another cookie. “I plan to get all of you together…by yourselves—sorry, Faith—later this afternoon.”
    Faith didn’t think he looked very sorry.
    Pix’s face assumed a determined look. She’d been running her hands through her short, thick brown hair and one piece in front stood straight up like a visor. “Of course you can include me. Anything that will help to figure this out.”
    Charley stayed a little longer, finished his coffee, and managed to tantalize Faith further with references to the other letters. It was Pix who broke things up.
    â€œI have to pick Samantha up at softball practice and take Danny to that skateboard place in Cambridge for a birthday party. And,” she added, “I don’t want the kids to hear anything about this. It was bad enough the last time, the Cindy time.”
    â€œBad enough” was putting it mildly, but Pix did not tend to histrionics. In any case, “bad enough” in Aleford was generally understood to suggest major tragedy.
    She left and Charley followed. Faith and Tom sat facing each other on the couch. Amy was beginning tocall from her crib and they could hear Ben go into his sister’s room. It was extremely unlikely that he had thoughts of brotherly love in mind. His idea of play with Amy consisted of making her animals “fly.”
    â€œSo,” Tom said, poised for intervention.
    â€œSo,” said his wife. “We’ve got to get this settled. I know Pix seemed calm when she left, but that’s for Samantha and Danny’s benefit. Thank goodness she’s got them to worry about.”
    Tom had never been enamored of his wife’s investigative involvements, but for once he thought she ought to see what she could discover. These were the Millers—parishioners and their dearest friends.
    â€œThe first thing we have to do is call Sam. See if he can come back earlier. Pix said he was staying at the Fairmont in San Francisco.”
    â€œGood idea. You do that while I get the kids ready for the farm.” She looked at Tom’s shoes. “You’d better put your wellies on, too.”
    Tom assumed a forlorn look, “And where are you going to be while I’m having all this