October 1965
Alice waited while Lizzie wrapped the cheese for her and then said, “Thank you, Lizzie, I so appreciate that. Now, what do you have that I might take with me on a visit? I’m driving over to Reading today, to have tea with my friend Cecilia Norris.”
“There are some nice pound cakes that Dorothy made this morning,” Lizzie said. She looked happy, Alice thought, though with Lizzie it was difficult to tell. It wasn’t like she’d smile at you. But she was wearing her hair in a new, more attractive style, curled a bit and down around her face, and her blouse was a shade of pink that gave her a bit of life. The ring sparkled on her finger and when Alice’s eyes dropped to it, Lizzie blushed a bit. Richie was stocking the shelves at the back of the store, not far from where his supposed transgression had taken place, and Alice called out to him and waved hello. He looked up and nodded and gave a small wave.
Alice had the funny thought that if Lizzie and Richie had children, they would surely be the most grim-looking children who ever existed, but of course things didn’t always work out that way, did they? The children were just as liable to be jolly, happy little children who laughed and made too much noise.
The news of the engagement had made its way around town in the days after the investigation into the fires up on Agony Hill was closed, one declared accidental and the other suicide. Bob Coller had apparently apologized to Richie and all was forgiven. It was now apparent that Dorothy was indeed to have a child and Alice felt a strange sense of hopefulness. Babies, coming into the world. Dorothy’s and Sylvie Weber’s too. New people.
She had visited Sylvie the day after Franklin Warren had closed the investigation, declaring that Hugh Weber had died by suicide. Sylvie had looked nervous at first and Alice’s suspicions about the whole thing were confirmed by the terrified way she watched the oldest boy out the window. But when Alice had remarked that now that everything had been settled, they could get back to coping with their enormous loss and look ahead to their new life, and added that her boys were such good boys, all four of them, and that Alice knew they would help Sylvie any way they could, Sylvie seemed to relax. She had even given Alice another poem to take to the old friend of Ernie’s who taught poetry at the college.
Alice took the cake and the cheese and put them on the front seat of the car, next to the chrysanthemums she’d cut that morning. She’d called Cecilia and lied about coming over to see someone else in town and of course Cecilia had asked Alice to tea. It would be the perfect opportunity to find out what Cecilia knew about this Soviet writer. Alice would get some background information about who he socialized with in town, if he ever had visitors. And then on subsequent visits she could see how he was settling in. She might even be able to pass by his house, get a glimpse of the man.
And then she would try to find out about this Samuel Armstrong, to see if there was a connection. She knew that it might be dangerous, getting too close to the truth about what had happened to the man and whether it had anything to do with the writer. If there were some agent or double agent, posted here in Vermont, keeping an eye on Kalachnikov, well, then he might know who Alice was, who Ernie had been. She would have to be very careful on this first visit. Yes, it could be very dangerous indeed, but then doing nothing was dangerous too. It was not an accident that Arthur Crannock was here in Vermont. Alice knew that with absolute certainty. Whatever Arthur had planned for Alice, she needed to be prepared. And the only way to be prepared was to put the pieces together, to understand the field of play.
Alice tied her scarf around her hair, tucked the amulet Arthur had given her into her skirt pocket, and started the car. She did love the back roads she’d take over to Reading. The leaves hadn’t quite started turning in earnest, but fall was in the air.
It was a beautiful day for a drive.