The Body in the Moonlight Read Free Page A

told you about our plan of action for the Anniversary Campaign?”
    It had a distinctly militaristic ring to it phrased that way, Faith realized—and Paula Pringle was definitely the one to marshal the forces.
    â€œHe mentioned you’d formed a subcommittee to do some fund-raising for a commemorative project,” Faith said cautiously, mindful of the word crypt and nervous at the possible intent of the call. Her ministerial spousal radar system was bleeping loud and clear. Paula Pringle wanted her to volunteer.
    â€œI know how busy you are….”
    Here it comes, thought Faith
    â€œYour business is soooo successful. Everywhere I go, people only want Have Faith to cater their events.”
    In which case, Faith wondered, why is it that I’ve never worked at one of your functions?
    â€œAfter the meeting last night, a few of us got together at my place and sketched out some rough ideas for a really fabulous fund-raising kickoff party.”
    Don’t these people sleep—or work? It had been after eleven by the time Tom came home.
    â€œAnd this morning, I was lucky enough to reach Mattie Hawthorne, who manages Ballou House, and we have a date.”
    Up with the chickens as you both were. Faith was fatalistic, possibly resigned. Whatever was coming, she was no match for this woman.
    â€œHave you ever catered at Ballou, Faith? Such a treasure, and right here in our own Aleford.”
    Faith had catered several weddings at Ballou House. It was an extraordinary eighteenth-century country estate built in the Georgian manner by Increase Ballou as a forty-acre retreat from his Beacon Hill mansion. True to his name, he had taken the modest shipping company founded by his father and made a fortune, staggering at that time—or any time. Ballou House had a large ballroom, punctuated by the classic columns beloved by the Georgians. At one end, French doors, a later addition, opened onto a patio overlooking Italianate gardens. At the other end of the room, an architectural wall, complete with pediment and more columns, surrounded a huge fireplace with a gray-veined marble mantel wide enough to display the shiploads of Chinese export porcelain Increase’s ships had used for ballast. The cargo was an example of the perfect marriage between pragmatism and aestheticism that characterized so much of New England, even up to the present day.
    Subsequent generations had added wings and outbuildings to Ballou House, making it still more of a grand mixture. The furniture that had not been given to the Museum of Fine Arts, along with Copley’s portrait of Increase, was a hodgepodge of Queen Anne, Chippendale, Gothic, Victoriana, and Arts and Crafts. The original Chinese wallpaper graced the drawing room, protected by glass, and a grand Palladian window above the front door had also happily been left alone.
    Besides Ballou House, there were several other “rustic” retreats tucked away in Aleford. During those long-ago summers, the town’s sturdy populace, mostly farmers descended from its first settlers, was outnumbered by these wealthy landowners and their servants—from Ireland, the Maritime Provinces, and Italy—all essential to maintain their masters’ way of life. Eventually, many of these employees and their descendants became year-round residents, distinctions supposedly blurred as the twentieth century brought dramatic changes to the rural character of the town. Typically, however, Aleford was slower than most to embrace any newfangled notions, actually voting to keep their streetlights filled with kerosene until 1910—long after neighboring towns had electrified.
    The Ballous had continued to prosper, at least financially, and when Increase’s last direct descendant died childless sometime in the forties, he left Ballou House to the town and an ample trust fund to keep it in goodrepair. The thrifty town fathers and mothers promptly began to rent it out for