Read The Body in the Bouillon Online
Authors: Katherine Hall Page
The Body in the Bouillon (4 page)
“I'm sorry to hear about your husband. Was his death recent?” Faith asked, switching into the empathetic minister's wife voice she thought she ought to be cultivating. It was a slight shock to watch Denise explode into laughter. Hysteria?
“I should only be so lucky. No, the creep is very much alive and living in L.A. with wife number three, formerly mistress number three hundred and three, who didn't want wife number one's kid around. Wife number one didn't want him either. I'd been raising Joel pretty much alone anyway, and I wasn't going to back out on him. Plus we got the house, no problem, and actually both of us have never been happier.”
“It sounds like you didn't exactly have a match made in heaven,” Faith commented.
“I was just plain stupid and not young enough to have age for an excuseâbut maybe not that stupid. I never had my wedding silver or towels monogrammed, for instance.”
Faith laughed. She hoped Denise would be around a lot in the next two weeks. Besides being entertaining, she might have picked up what was going on at Hubbard.
“What do you do hereâas a volunteer?” Faith asked, also wondering
why?
why?
“I started by driving some of the residents to temple for services on Friday nightsâthe rabbi had asked for volunteers from the congregation, and then when one of the people I drove, Mrs. Rosen, broke a hip and was recuperating in the nursing wing, I visited and read to her. One thing led to another and I became a volunteer. I love being adored and I don't have a whole lot else to do with my time. If I weren't so selfish, I'd go out and get a job, but I don't want someone telling me what time to be there and what to do.”
Obviously she didn't need the money, Faith observed, looking at her neat little Patek Philippe watch and the
heavy gold necklace she wore. Her fingers were conspicuously bare of rings.
heavy gold necklace she wore. Her fingers were conspicuously bare of rings.
“How about you, Faith, why are you doing this? Christian love?”
“Nothing so selfless, I'm afraid,” Faith answered. “I was on my way to visit a parishioner and Miss Vale mistook me for someone coming to volunteer and brought me here. But since Ben is in nursery school in the mornings, I can help for a while.” She decided not to tell Denise about Chat's letter. Until she had more of an idea about what was going on, she wasn't going to mention it to anyone even vaguely associated with Hubbard House.
“That is so typical of SylviaâSylvia Vateâand yet somehow she never puts a foot wrong. Here you are. The problem's solved even though she was completely screwed up about it.”
The salads were done and only needed dressing, which the residents put on themselves.
“Do you want us to do the bread, Mrs. P.?” Denise asked.
“Yes, and I'll mash the potatoes, and then it will be time to get the trays done.”
“You should be doing this instead of me,” Faith remarked. “You know so much.”
“Not a chance. Remember I'm selfish. I don't want to have to be here every day at a certain time. Besides, I have a hair appointment tomorrow. With this cut, I have to go all the time. It gives me another purpose in life, and it's almost as nice as the old days in high school when my friend Linda and I used to iron each other's hair, smoke cigarettes we took from her mother, and gossip. Somehow my hairdresser Richard's stories don't seem as interesting as which cheerleaders went all the way and whether the math teacher was seeing Debbie Jackson outside school, but Richard pampers me and I love it.”
Faith was still searching for someone who could cut her hairâif not exactly as she'd had it before her northern
migration, at least in some approximation. She didn't want Denise's cut, but she recognized the hand of a master. Before she could ask her where Richard wielded his scissors, Denise looked at her watch and exclaimed, “Have to run! âBye, Faith. Nice meeting you. 'Bye, Mrs. P. You've got a treasure here. Let her do some of the cooking. I think she knows how.” She winked at Faith. “Joel and I love Have Faith's wild berry jam.”
migration, at least in some approximation. She didn't want Denise's cut, but she recognized the hand of a master. Before she could ask her where Richard wielded his scissors, Denise looked at her watch and exclaimed, “Have to run! âBye, Faith. Nice meeting you. 'Bye, Mrs. P. You've got a treasure here. Let her do some of the cooking. I think she knows how.” She winked at Faith. “Joel and I love Have Faith's wild berry jam.”
A faint whiff of Coco lingered after she left, mingling with the smell of the brown bread, Parker House rolls, and cranberry muffins they'd been putting into baskets. Mrs. Pendergast lumbered over.
“Put a few more muffins in each. We've got them to spare today. And you know these ladies always bring big pocketbooks to meals.” She laughed.
Faith hadn't pictured the stately inhabitants of Hubbard House as the types who filched rolls from the dining room, but then it could also be yet another example of Yankee frugalityâshe could hear the soft murmurs, “Don't want them to go to waste, you know.” She added some more to each basket and went over to help Mrs. Pendergast fill the trays. The tray slips were tucked under the silverware, and she saw that one of them was for Farley Bowditch. He must be in the nursing-care wing.
“I'm going to have to leave soon, Mrs. Pendergast, but I could bring this tray up on my way out. Mr. Bowditch is a friend.”
“That would be fine. It isn't hard to find. You go back the way you came, but instead of taking the stairs, take the elevator and go to the second floor. We're in the basement of the annex. When you get out of the elevator, go straight and turn right. His room is in the middle of the corridor.” She hesitated. “Do you think you can stand another day?”
“I think so.” Faith smiled. “See you in the morning.” Mrs. P. hadn't been a font of informationânot yet anywayâbut Faith was getting fond of her. She'd get even fonder if she could take over some of the cooking.
She picked up the tray. Farley had opted for the fish, and it lay in overcooked splendor on a Wedgwood plate with a blanket of red paprika and a morsel of parsley. She popped a cover on it to keep it hot and set off.
It was easy to find the nursing-care wing, but Faith decided to get deliberately lost on the way back. Of course she could always ask Sylvia Vale to show her around, but it was more funâand instructiveâto go alone.
Farley was sitting up in a chair by the window and was delighted to see her.
“Mrs. Fairchild! How nice of you to come, and you've brought my lunch, I see. Perhaps you would join me? The kitchen is so obliging and the food is quite tasty.”
“I'm afraid I don't have time today, but thank you. Actually I'm volunteering in the kitchen for a while, as they are short of help at the moment.”
“Ah yes, your culinary renown has preceded you, no doubt.”
“I'm not sure about that. I'm peeling potatoes and arranging salads for now.”
“All in good time, my dear.”
“But please, don't let your food get cold. I thought I would bring it up and see how you were doing. Tom sends his best and says he'll be out to see you soon.”
“How kind. Well, I'm fine, but Rolandâthat's Dr. Hubbardâis not happy with my get-up-and-go. He says it's gone and wants to keep a closer eye on me until we find it.” Farley laughed brittlely, wheezing slightly.
Faith decided to use the Aunt Chat ploy. “I have an aunt who lives in New Jersey now who is considering Hubbard House, and I told her I would ask some of the people who live here what they think of it.”
“Who better?” Farley agreed amicably. “The horse's mouth.”
Faith expected him to continue, but he appeared to be distracted by a tomato, which had surfaced from the midst of the lettuce. “Oh, this is nice. Tomato
and
lettuce.” She
waited patiently as he guided the fork from plate to mouth, tensing slightly as the tomato quivered and started to fall. It was like watching Ben eat. The mission was accomplished, and while he was chewing she asked, “Are you happy here?” Time to be direct.
and
lettuce.” She
waited patiently as he guided the fork from plate to mouth, tensing slightly as the tomato quivered and started to fall. It was like watching Ben eat. The mission was accomplished, and while he was chewing she asked, “Are you happy here?” Time to be direct.
“Oh my, yes. Best decision I ever madeâcoming here. They take wonderful care of you and you meet such interesting people. Of course, I knew quite a few of them before, but we have stockbrokers, lawyers, teachers, even preachers here. A lady who writes books. A couple who raise orchids in one of the cottages. A vast assortment. Then there's the ghost.”
“The ghost?” asked Faith, wondering if this was a pet name for someone, an old New England tradition associated with the house, or perhaps where Farley's get-up-and-go had wandered.
“I should say my ghost. Nobody else has seen it, yet it's real enough. Comes into this very room at night and shuts the window. Sometimes pulls my blankets up around me. So considerate. Roland says he wishes it would appear to more people. Would help cut down on staff.” Farley laughed and wheezed again. “But tell your aunt not to be afraid if she hears about it. We're used to ghosts around here. My mother used to see her grandmother sitting on the porch swing the first of June every year. It was how we knew summer had arrived. I don't know much about ghosts in New Jersey, but you tell her she would be quite happy here. Don't know much about New Jersey either. Only went there once when my nephew graduated from Princeton. Didn't get into Harvard. Seemed like a nice enough place, but you tell her to come here. Probably better.”
Farley was turning his attention to the fish, and Faith said good-bye with promises to return the next day. She wouldn't be getting any useful information from him, that seemed clear, but she always loved this kind of elderly gentleman. She looked back at himâsitting with perfect elegance in an old bathrobe from Brooks with a shawl
draped around his shoulders. He could have been presenting his papers at the Court of St. James.
draped around his shoulders. He could have been presenting his papers at the Court of St. James.
As she left, she noticed a nurse's station, which opened onto an atrium, at the end of the corridor and walked down for a closer look. It was well equipped, and even the gold-framed botanical prints on the wall behind it did not disguise the fact that this was a medical facility. She'd noticed the oxygen hookups and other hospital-room paraphernalia in Farley's room. It was all unobtrusive but state of the art. Whatever Howard Perkins had stumbled onto, outdated or shoddy medical equipment wasn't it. A door to the left of the nursing station opened and a woman who appeared to be in her late thirties came through, carefully locking it behind her. Before she did, Faith glimpsed a wall of glass cabinetsâobviously the medication room.
The woman smiled at her. “Hello, are you looking for someone?”
“I found him, thank you. I've been visiting Farley Bowditch. I'm helping in the kitchen and brought him his tray. He's a parishioner of my husband's.”
“Oh, then you must be Mrs. Fairchild. I'm Muriel Hubbard and I met your husband when he was here the last time. Farley loves company and it was good of you to come. And Mrs. Pendergast must be thanking her lucky stars. We've been having a terrible time with so many of the staff out, and it's impossible to get short-term replacements.”
Muriel was a small but solid woman. Her brown hair, cut in a sensible, chin-length Dutch bob, was streaked with a few gray hairs. The bangs accentuated her broad forehead. Her glasses hung from a string around her neck, and she was dressed in a navy-blue skirt, starched white oxford-cloth blouse, and comfortable nurse's shoes. She exuded competence, security, and dullness.
“I'm glad I can help,” Faith told her, “but I must get home now. I've already stayed later than I planned.” Virtually nothing so far had gone as planned, Faith thought, her
mood elevating as it did whenever unpredictability surfaced in days that at present tended to march in step.
mood elevating as it did whenever unpredictability surfaced in days that at present tended to march in step.
“Thank you again, and I'll look forward to seeing more of you.” She extended her hand and shook Faith's warmly. Muriel was obviously a very nice person.
Faith dashed to the parking lot and drove home. The phone was ringing as she opened the kitchen door. It was Tom.
“Where have you been, honey? I've been calling you all morning.”
“I went out to Hubbard House to visit Farley Bowditch andâ” Faith started to explain.
“That's nice. I'm sure he appreciated it,” Tom interrupted. “I'm going to be later than I thought tonight, but I
will
be home for dinner.” His voice sounded grimly determined. Something was up, Faith realizedânot just from the tone of his voice, but from the fact that her visit to Hubbard House had scarcely been noted. She hoped it wasn't complaints about wording in some of the hymns again. There were so many points of view these days, and Tom had been going in circles trying to keep everybody in tune.
will
be home for dinner.” His voice sounded grimly determined. Something was up, Faith realizedânot just from the tone of his voice, but from the fact that her visit to Hubbard House had scarcely been noted. She hoped it wasn't complaints about wording in some of the hymns again. There were so many points of view these days, and Tom had been going in circles trying to keep everybody in tune.
“Fine. I have to get Ben at the Viles'. He's playing with Lizzie today. Then we have to do the food shopping, so I'll be running a little late too. Is everything all right, darling? You sound a little harried.”
“I am. Leave a light in the window and get out the scotch.”
Faith hung up. This wasn't just hymns. A thought stabbed her. Maybe the director of the church school was ill and couldn't direct the Christmas pageant! This was always a worst-case scenario and something her normally unflappable mother had fretted about at Christmastime all during Faith's childhood. Jane Sibley was noted for her cool toughness in court, and there were hints of a possible judgeship, but the intricate theological wrangling about who was going to be Mary this year and my son isn't going to be a shepherd
again
totally unnerved her. Let alone
getting them all down the aisle and in some sort of recognizable order at the altar.
again
totally unnerved her. Let alone
getting them all down the aisle and in some sort of recognizable order at the altar.
Other books
Crimson Sunrise by Saare, J. A.
The Secret Hour by Scott Westerfeld
Boys Next Door by Sommer Marsden
Surrender to Temptation Part VI: Tempted to Possess by Jameson, Lauren
Reading the Bones by Gina McMurchy-Barber
Sleeping Beauty by Judith Ivory
Secret History of Elizabeth Tudor, Vampire Slayer by Weston, Lucy
Dotty’s Suitcase by Constance C. Greene
Thunder Rolling in the Mountains by Scott O'Dell
Summer of the Geek by Piper Banks