Free The Body In The Bog by Katherine Hall Page Page B

wobbly Shaker-type table and waited while the older woman fiddled with a piece of cardboard shimmed under one of the legs. Finally, all was in place and Millicent was “mother,” pouring the strong tea she favored into delicate Limoges cups that she invariably mentioned were a throwback to the Reveres’—Rivoires’—French beginnings.
    Teacup in hand, Faith declared, “You’ve had one of those nasty poison-pen letters.”
    Millicent cast an involuntary glance at the hearth and then back, her piercing gray eyes matched by the iron Mamie Eisenhower fringe above them. Never a hostage to fashion’s whims, Millicent—and Mamie—had found a hairstyle and stuck with it.
    â€œWhat makes you say that?”
    Faith noticed it was not a denial.
    â€œBecause you’ve burned it in your fireplace, which was really not the best thing to do. We need all the evidence we can get to discover who’s behind this.”
    Millicent gave Faith a world-weary smile—Oh, the impetuousness of youth. “I had a very good reason for burning it. It was crude and I didn’t want anyone else to see it, but of course I told Charley. I described theway it was written. A cut-and-paste job from magazines and newspapers. I’m sure he knew what I was going to do.”
    â€œDo you know who else received one?”
    â€œDo you?” Millicent parried.
    â€œYes,” Faith advanced.
    â€œAll right, then, let’s try to figure it out. If the two of us can’t, I don’t know who can.” It was a major victory, and before Faith could let it go to her head, she told herself to remain steady and took out a pad and pen.
    â€œWhen did yours arrive?”
    â€œThis morning—and it was mailed in Post Office Square on Thursday afternoon, like the others I know about.”
    Before she could go off on the tirade against the U.S. mail that Faith had heard lo these many times before—“My dear, we used to have two deliveries a day! You could mail a letter in Aleford at night and it would arrive at its destination at breakfast. Now you’re lucky if it makes it in a week. Far simpler to hand-deliver.”—Faith quickly interjected, “What about the others? Who’s gotten them?”
    â€œBrad has received one. He read it to me on the phone before taking it to the police. Also the Batcheldors and the Scotts. Who do you know?”
    â€œPix got one, also this morning. It alluded to the whole Cindy Shepherd affair and suggested that Sam had not stopped philandering.” Being with Millicent tended to make Faith use words she had hitherto seen only in print.
    â€œBrad’s was about that Deane girl he’d been seeingseveral months ago, and it was rather graphic about what they may have been up to. He seemed to think the whole thing was funny, especially since they’ve parted company.”
    â€œAnd the Batcheldors?”
    â€œThat was more circumspect. It just said they shouldn’t go out in the woods if they wanted to stay healthy. It was a threat. But the one the Scotts got was particularly vicious, mentioning her father.”
    â€œHer father?”
    â€œHe was an alcoholic and hit a little girl when he was driving while intoxicated. She survived but was paralyzed from the waist down. Shortly after, he took his own life.”
    â€œThat’s terrible!”
    â€œYes, especially since it was so many years ago. And to lay it at the Scotts’ doorstep! It had nothing to do with them. Louise was a girl herself at the time. I remember it well.”
    And you were how old? Faith was tempted to ask, but she did not want to mar the precarious alliance. Millicent was notoriously sensitive about her age, admitting to no more than a vague reference to sixty-something.
    â€œPix’s was signed ‘A friend.’ How was yours signed?”
    â€œThe same, as was everyone else’s except Brad’s. Brad’s