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hadn’t poured yet?”
    â€œProbably all the same people, since I’ve been at the other places instead of here for some time now. But I was planning to pour this week. Not too many people would have known that.”
    They were getting somewhere.
    â€œWho would have known?”
    â€œOkay now, let me see. I was ordering the lumber for the footings at Barton’s and I may have mentioned it then. I told my mother, because she said you would be here soon and if I didn’t get going, you’d have my hide, which is true.” Seth smiled and the pirate was replaced by a mischievous little boy—little boy, despite his thirty-odd years. He’d been one of the island’s footloose and fancy-free young bachelors for so long, it was hard to think of his ever settling down—or getting any older. He lived with his parents in Granville, the larger of the island’s two main towns, Sanpere Village being the other. His mother, Serena, was a member of the Ladies’ Sewing Circle with Pix’s own mother. The Sewing Circle. That tore it. If Serena knew, it might as well have been listed under “Coming Events” in The Island Crier.
    Small-town life made criminal investigation nearly impossible. There were rarely any skeletons in anyone’s closet, because at one time or another, some friend or neighbor had opened it “by mistake,” ostensibly looking for something else. “How’s your uncle Enoch doing?” asked in the right tone of voice would be enough to elicit the information that he was drying out up to Bangor and how the hell did you know, anyway?
    All this was running through Pix’s mind, along with the inevitable conclusion that she couldn’t figure anything out, island
mores or no, until she had found out who the corpse had been for a start. She abandoned her previous line of inquiry.
    â€œSo, this is definite? You’re going to start work tomorrow?”
    â€œIf Earl will let me,” Seth replied.
    They sat in companionable silence for a while. There was a slight breeze and the leaves in the aspen grove behind them rustled softly. Seth took a pull on his bottle of beer, then asked, “Did it seem like it was attached?”
    Pix knew what he meant. “I think so.”
    â€œCould be part of him is here, part someplace else.”
    â€œI hope not,” Pix said, her queasiness returning at the idea of dismembered body parts turning up at construction sites from Kittery to Calais.
    They were quiet again, subdued by the grisly suggestion, but Seth couldn’t stay still for long.
    He smacked his forehead dramatically. “I must be losing my mind. I’ve got a CB in the truck. I can call Earl myself and find out what’s keeping him.” He walked rapidly toward the pickup and soon Pix heard the crackle of static and Seth’s muffled words. He was back within minutes.
    â€œHe’s already on his way. But I bet Freeman beats him.”
    Scarcely were the words out of his mouth when Freeman’s truck pulled in and screeched to a halt, sending gravel flying in all directions and starting the dogs barking again. Samantha flew out her door and was at her mother’s side before Freeman had even opened his. When he stepped out, Pix could see he had his Sunday clothes on, which meant several less layers than usual. His fisherman’s tan—forearms, face, and neck—was a deep mahogany color, contrasting with his thick mat of light gray-white hair.
    Samantha spoke, her voice full of concern: “Mom, the police will be here right away. Are you okay?”
    Considering the only danger had been from her own overactive
mind, Pix was able to answer, “I’m fine. How about you?”
    Freeman answered for her, “She was a little wobbly when she first got to me, but she’s calmed down some. Nan came home and that helped.” He did not seem surprised to see Seth and nodded to him. “Hello,