What if you or 1 be dead! G.o.d is alive still. a"Journal, March 13, 1842 Julian Snow stared down at the body of his wife. When Homer spoke to him, Julian looked up, and Homer saw in the pale irises of his eyes the reflection of the moving treetops like landscapes rushing away. One of the men put his arm around Julian's shoulders.

There were murmured introductions. "My name's Homer Kelly," said Homer. "I was bird-watching down there at Goose Pond." He looked questioningly at Ananda.

Ananda raised his eyebrows, feeling too insignificant to be a person at all. "Ananda Singh," he whispered, and Homer noted the name in his mind. It sounded familiar to him, but probably thousands of young men in India were called Ananda Singh.

"The police," said Stu LaDue again. "Why don't somebody call the police?"

"We don't need the police," said Norman Peck sorrowfully. "She fell, that's all. She fell down the steps."

"She shouldn't have got out of bed," said Honey Mooney. "I told her, over and over, I told her she should stay in bed."

"Let's take her inside," said Homer softly.

Alice Snow was too heavy to be carried by one person. Julian Snow picked up his wife's shoulders, and Ananda grasped her by the ankles.

"Wait," said Homer. "Back up." Bending over the metal steps, he looked at the treads, examining them swiftly for splashes of red, for clots of blood and hair. He could see none, but he took off his jacket and draped it over the side of the steps where Alice's body had fallen. Then he s.n.a.t.c.hed up a folding lawn chair and set it over the b.l.o.o.d.y patch of concrete where her head had lain. "All right," he said softly, "you can go in now."

Alice's friends pressed forward. Homer shook his head. "I think you people better wait outside."

Stuart LaDue was incensed. "What right have you got to tell us what to do?"

Homer pulled out his wallet and removed the worn card that had once identified him as a lieutenant detective in the office of the district attorney for Middles.e.x County. He flaunted it in front of Stu LaDue. His thumb was well accustomed to covering up the date.

Stu was mollified. But Honey Mooney wasn't about to be put off. "I was Alice's best friend," she said firmly. Pushing in front of Homer, she bustled up the steps after Julian and Ananda and followed them along the narrow corridor as they struggled to carry the body into the bedroom.

Alice Snow weighed nearly two hundred pounds. Sweat poured down Julian's face and Ananda gasped with effort as they lugged her to the bed. Honey ducked ahead of them to straighten the tumble of flowered sheets and ruffled pillows. Breathing hard, they laid Alice down. At once Honey tugged the puffy comforter over her head.

They had all seen it in the movies, the p.r.o.nouncement of death with a white sheet pulled slowly over the face. Homer glanced at Julian Snow. Julian looked drawn but expressionless. For the thousandth time Homer wondered why husbands and wives were often so ill matched. This skinny man in the plaid shirt and jeans was completely at odds with his cluttered setting. It was as though a stork had settled down with a bird of paradise. The place was flouncy with cushions and doilies, jumbled with pictures and ornaments and statuettes, fuzzy with afghans. On the wall a doll held a basket of plastic flowers. There seemed no place for Julian Snow in his wife's plush-lined nest.

Dumbly they moved back along the hall to the living room, which doubled as a kitchen. Ananda Singh paused at the outside door and nodded to Homer in farewell.

"Wait," said Homer. "Don't go."

"Oh," said Ananda. "Well, I'll just get my suitcase." Carefully he walked down the steps, retrieved the suitcase from the gra.s.s, and brought it inside.

On the little lawn around Julian Snow's mobile home, Shirley Mills, Mavis and Bernie Buonfesto and Norman Peck had been joined by Dot and Scottie Ryan, Eugene Beaver, Porter McAdoo and Madeline Raymond. They all looked up sorrowfully at Homer as he grasped the handle to close the door. "Sorry," he said, pulling it shut.

Honey Mooney and Julian Snow were looking expectantly at Homer, too. He sighed. Why did everybody always put him in charge? Because he was bigger and taller by a foot or two? It wasn't a good enough reason. Homer cleared his throat and began. "Down there at Goose Pond I heard a woman's cry. It seemed to be coming from up here. It wasn't a scream exactly. It must have been Mrs. Snow. And then I think I saw someone hurrying away. Did you hear anything, or see anything like that, either of you?" Homer looked at Honey Mooney and Ananda Singh. "Did you see anyone nearby?"

Honey looked blank. Ananda spoke up. "I heard it, the cry. And I too saw a movement in the bushes." He wanted to say he had been reminded of elephants, but he knew it would sound absurd.

At that moment the door burst open. Stu LaDue slammed it behind him, pushed past Ananda, and marched importantly into the middle of the room. "Hey, look at this," he said loudly, holding up a piece of paper and glaring at Julian Snow. "I found it on the front seat of his truck. It's a love letter from a married woman. I saw her give it to him. It's from Charlotte Harris, a married woman, right here in Pond View."

Julian recognized Charlotte's letter at once, and he woke from his stupor. "That's mine," he said, reaching out a long arm.

But Stu gave it to Homer, who took it reluctantly, recognizing it for the bombsh.e.l.l it was. For a moment he struggled with his sympathy for the grieving husband on the one hand and his curiosity on the other, but by the time he had decided not to read it, he already had.

It was profoundly personal. Homer winced, and held the letter out to Julian Snow. But Stu wasn't going to allow this sensational opportunity to pa.s.s. s.n.a.t.c.hing the letter back, he cleared his throat and read it aloud: Dear Julian, I want to say three things.

1. I've been unhappy as Pete's wife my whole married life.

2. Getting a divorce is awful. You know, such a mess.

3. I wouldn't ever do it unless I thought you'd marry me someday.

If you think this is silly, forget it. I'd rather keep on with Pete. This isn't a big deal. It's just that I've always loved you.

Charlotte The words crashed painfully among them. Ananda turned away, ashamed to be hearing what had not been meant for his ears. Honey Mooney's eyes were enormous. Julian stared at the table, his face scarlet.

Homer felt sorry for him. Reaching out, he plucked the letter from Stu's fingers.

"So there's your motive," said Stu malevolently. "Julian pushed his wife downstairs so he could marry Charlotte. Her husband, Pete, he's gonna be next."

"But Mr. Snow was not here," said Ananda, eager to refute this accusation by the mean little man in the thick gla.s.ses. "He was somewhere else in his lorry."

"But maybe he was just parked somewhere," said Stu, "and then he ran back to his truck and drove here like he'd been someplace else all the time."

"Where were you, Mr. Snow?" said Homer.

Julian made a feeble gesture in the direction of Concord center. "I was doing errands. Alice wanted some yarn."

"You had a bag in your hand," said Homer, remembering. "You must have left it outside. Would they remember you, where you bought the yarn?"

Julian stared at him. "Store's gone. Dime store's gone. The bag is ice cream. Alice, she wanted some ice cream."

"Ice cream?" said Homer. Then Honey Mooney nipped outside and hurried back with the sopping bag. Before Homer could caution her, she pulled out the sticky quart container and popped it in the freezing compartment of Julian's refrigerator.

"Where did you buy the ice cream?" said Homer.

"Star Market," murmured Julian.

Homer was fascinated. "Well, you couldn't very well have been committing a crime and executing a complicated maneuver of deception, not with a quart of melting ice cream on your hands." He looked around, beaming.

"I know where he could've got the ice cream," said Stu evilly. "From Charlotte's icebox, that's where he could've got it."

Homer's face fell. Stuart LaDue was a foul specimen of humankind, but of course he was right. The ice cream could have come from any of the refrigerators right here at Pond View. "A receipt," he said. "Have you got a receipt from the Star Market?"

Julian shook his head. "I always throw those things away."

Stu snorted, then turned his venom on Ananda Singh. "This kid, what's he doing here, anyhow? He saw his chance, sick old lady, lots of stuff he could rip off."

Homer glanced sympathetically at Ananda's startled face, then turned to Julian Snow. "Did you have anything valuable that someone might have wanted to steal? Is anything missing?"

Julian looked at him blankly, and then he moved across the room and climbed up on the built-in bench under the little bay window. Reaching up, he took down a small metal file box from the shelf over the window. Getting down again, he flipped open the lid of the box, then set it down heavily on the table.

The box was empty. "It was all my savings," said Julian, his voice choked. "Two thousand dollars. Somebody must have taken it."

"Look in the kid's suitcase," bawled Stu. "He was here, he helped himself, I bet."

Ananda couldn't believe what was happening. The nightmare was getting worse. The United States was a terrible place. Humbly he picked up the suitcase. The handle was strung with tags from Heathrow and Indira Gandhi airport, and on the lid Ananda had attached a couple of vainglorious stickers from the University of London and New Hall College, Cambridge.

He lifted out the contents and dumped them on the table. There were white muslin shirts of a long Indian cut, a cheap-looking cotton suit, some gray underwear, a pair of denim jeans, a framed picture of his sister, and a paperback book.

Homer's eyes fastened on the book. "Ah," he said, recognizing The Heart of Th.o.r.eau's Journals.

Then Ananda groped in the elastic pocket of the suitcase and pulled out something else, a thin folder of blue plastic. "The money from my traveler's checks," he said, explaining. "I cashed them at the airport this morning. I bought them just yesterday, or perhaps it was the day before, at the Bank of India in New Delhi."

"You cashed all of them at the airport?" said Homer. "How much was it?"

"Thirty-six thousand rupees. I forget how much that is in your money."

"Count it," said Stu LaDue. "Go ahead, count it."

Silently Homer counted the hundreds and twenties in the folder. "It comes to two thousand and twenty dollars," he said uncomfortably.

"What'd I tell you!" cried Stu in triumph. "He was here, he took Julian's cash money."

"But I have the receipts, the whole list." Ananda pulled an Air India envelope out of his pocket. "I have just come from New Delhi. I came because of the book Walden."

"Bulls.h.i.t." Stu looked at Homer angrily. "You going to call the police or ain't you going to call the police?"

"Rest a.s.sured, I'll take care of it," said Homer ambiguously. "Look here," he said, suddenly brisk, pushing Honey and Stu toward the door, "I'm sure Mr. Snow needs a little peace and quiet."

In a moment he had them all outside. Ananda put his suitcase on the ground and stuffed his belongings back into it.

"Wait for me," said Homer to Ananda, and then he turned to Julian, who was standing silently in the doorway. "Goodbye, Mr. Snow. I'll talk to Chief Flower in the police department. Would you like me to ask Mr. Pettigrew to come for her? People around here mostly use Mr. Pettigrew. He'll take care of her until she's turned over to the medical examiner."

"The medical examiner?" Julian looked bewildered.

"In a case like this, when the cause of death isn't certain, there has to be an examination by a pathologist." Homer reached up his hand.

Julian, who never did anything without thinking it over first, let a moment go by before taking it. "I see," he said. "Thank you."

The other residents of Pond View had vanished, except for Norman Peck, who still lingered by the steps. "Julian?" he said.

"Come on in," said Julian gruffly.

The door closed. Homer, turning away, could hear the gasping sobs of someone who apparently had no experience in crying.

"Listen here," said Homer, turning to Ananda, "where are you staying?"

Ananda misinterpreted the question. "Ah, you will want to keep track of me." He shrugged. "I don't know. I must find a place."

Homer was amused. "Is it true you came straight to Concord from the airport to see Walden Pond?"

"Yes," said Ananda with melancholy dignity. "I came to this country to see the place of Henry Th.o.r.eau."

Homer threw back his head with a shout of laughter, then covered his mouth, remembering the bereaved husband nearby. He clapped Ananda on the back. "Good Lord, do you know what I was doing before all this happened? I was down there at Goose Pond, hoping to hear a wood thrush. You know, Th.o.r.eau's famous wood thrush."

" 'He sings to amend our inst.i.tutions,' " recited Ananda, his face brightening in a brilliant smile.

" 'He sings to amend our inst.i.tutions,' " repeated Homer in ecstasy. "Right, right. That's what he does." He took Ananda by his thin shoulders and bounced him up and down. "Listen, you can stay with us. Oh, I've got so much to show you. Forget Walden Pond. Wait till you see the river. Wait till I show youa"listen here, don't move. I've got to talk to that woman Charlotte Harris." He looked around. "Now where does she live?"

Homer ambled along the driveway. Almost at once he ran into Honey Mooney, who had been lurking beside her own mobile home, a large Roycraft with pale green shutters. "Oh, Mrs. Mooney," said Homer politely, "can you tell me which is Mrs. Harris's home?"

Honey pointed, and then she came forward a few steps and said in a loud whisper, "She was there this morning."

"She? You mean Mrs. Harris? Where was she?"

"With Alice Snow. She was there before it happened. I saw her knock on the door and go inside."

"Did you see her come out?"

"No." Honey pursed her lips sanctimoniously. "I have better things to do than spy on my neighbors."

The mobile home belonging to Charlotte and Pete Harris was at the other end of Pond View, right next to Route 126. It was surrounded by a garden of bright flowers. They were ordinary annuals, just beginning to bloom in the June sun, but Homer could see that the colors had been chosen with care.

He knocked, and the door was opened at once, as though Charlotte had been expecting him. She was an angular woman with fading red hair and an anxious face as freckled as a child's. He remembered seeing her before. She had run up to them as they were gathered around the body of Alice Snow, and then she had turned and hurried away again.

The interior of her house was different from the overcrowded stuffiness of the mobile home inhabited by Alice and Julian Snow. It had a shipshape feeling, like the cabin of a seagoing vessel. There was a bookcase on the wall, and it had real literature in it, Homer decided, giving it a swift glance. Thomas Hardy was there, and Willa Gather.

Charlotte looked at her visitor with dread. Something awful was about to happen, she could feel it.

Homer wasted no time in producing the awful thing. He took Charlotte's letter out of his pocket. "Can you tell me when you wrote this?"

Charlotte dropped onto a chair and put her face in her hands. "Oh, I'm so ashamed." She lowered her hands and looked at him in anguish. Her cheeks were flaming. "Julian showed it to you?"

"No. Stuart LaDue found it in that truck of Julian's."

Charlotte closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. "Stuart! Then everyone will know. My husbanda""

"I'll speak to Mr. LaDue," said Homer grimly.

"Oh, I've been such a fool."

"You wrote the letter recently?"

"Yes, this morning. I don't know what came over me. I dashed off the letter, just getting something out of my system. But then I saw Julian in his truck, and I rushed out without thinking and tossed it in the window. Afterward I was sorry." Charlotte stood up, too tormented to sit still.

"Honey Mooney tells me you visited Alice Snow this morning," said Homer softly, as though he were merely making conversation.

"Yes. I was feeling so horrible at what I'd done." Charlotte gazed miserably at the letter in Homer's hand. "In that letter I said it wasn't a big deal. Well, it was a big deal. It was the kind of thing that could be very destructive, I saw that at once. I was in despair." Charlotte clutched her arms against her breast and began walking up and down the narrow room. "I brought Alice some flowers. I didn't stay long. She was in bed watching television and I felt in the way, so I just put the flowers in water and said good-bye."

"You saw no one else? Alice Snow seemed perfectly well? What time was it?"

"I don't know. It was only about ten minutes after that when Honey came running up the driveway, shouting that Alice was dead."

Homer stood up and handed her the letter. "Here. It's n.o.body else's business." He went to the door. "I'll go talk to Mr. LaDue. Where does he live?"