Read Online The Body In The Bog by Katherine Hall Page - Free Book Online Page B

someone not only remembered the title of one of his sermons, but had listened. Still they were ranging a bit far afield. “The point is that although we’d be hard put to come up with anyone who had a grudge against you, or Sam, you did get the letter, and the first thing we have to do is tell Charley. Do you want to call him or would you like me to?”
    The offending object was on the walnut coffee table in front of them, next to a clear glass vase of anemones just past their peak—elongated stems with petals splayed out in bright silk colors. A bowl of pears completed the still life. The letter looked as out of place as a porno magazine.
    â€œYou, please,” Pix said promptly, eyeing the missive with extreme distaste. “I don’t mind Charleyknowing. I suppose it is a police matter, but I’d just as soon not talk about it.”
    Faith thought it impolitic to mention that the moment Charley was on the scene she’d have to do a lot of talking. “How about a cup of coffee or tea while Tom is calling. Or are you hungry? Did you have lunch?”
    Pix, a tall woman with a healthy appetite, looked surprised. Certainly she’d had lunch, as had the rest of Aleford—at noon when you were supposed to, but coffee sounded good. “I’d love a cup of coffee, if it’s made.”
    Faith went out to start a fresh pot and put some molasses spice cookies on a plate while she was waiting for the water to get hot. Chief MacIsaac might come here rather than meet them down at the station. She added more cookies.
    â€œCharley’s on his way,” Tom told her when she brought the tray into the living room.
    Pix bit into a cookie, “Where are the kids?” she asked. She’d been so involved in her own problem that she’d forgotten about the younger Fairchilds, as much a part of the parsonage landscape as her children—and she counted the dogs—were of hers next door.
    â€œAmy’s still taking a good long nap in the afternoon and Ben’s upstairs resting. He’s been awfully quiet, which either means he’s dropped off, too, or he’s taking apart the VCR.” At the moment with no audible sounds, Faith was letting well enough, or the opposite, alone.
    The doorbell rang. Charley must have left as soon as he hung up the phone.
    â€œSo you’ve gotten one, too, Pix,” he said as he walked toward the plate of cookies.
    Faith was oddly relieved. Pix wasn’t the only one. Find the common thread linking the recipients and they’d have their noxious correspondent.
    â€œWho else?” she asked.
    â€œNow, Faith, you know I can’t tell you that,” Charley said, looking around for a sturdy chair. Unfortunately, the parsonage ran to spindly Hitchcocks. He lowered himself into one of the wing chairs flanking the fireplace. He was a large man, brought up on the stick-to-your-ribs traditional fare of his native Nova Scotia. Food had been sticking to his ribs ever since, although he carried it well. As usual, he was in plain clothes, very plain clothes. His Harris tweed jacket was due for a good pressing and it was doubtful his shirt ever had.
    â€œLet’s see it,” he said.
    Tom motioned to the coffee table. “We didn’t want to add our prints; that’s why the cloth is there.”
    â€œHard to get good ones from paper, but we’ll try.”
    Faith shot a forgivably smug look at her husband.
    Charley read the words slowly, looked at the envelope, and, using the cloth, put them in a plastic bag he’d pulled from his pocket.
    â€œThey were mailed from Boston—Post Office Square, to be precise—and at the same time—Thursday afternoon. The miracle is that they all arrived yesterday or today and didn’t take several weeks as usual.Maybe we should be looking for a postal worker.” Charley was not above a little government-employee chauvinism.
    â€œPost Office Square is in the