Picked to Die (An Orchard Mystery)

by Sheila Connolly

  “Because a boy is dead, they don’t know who he is, and the police don’t have any suspects. I’m afraid they’ll focus on Jeffrey, for the wrong reasons.”

  “Detective Marcus doesn’t railroad people, even if they are related to political candidates,” Seth said tersely.

  “I’m not saying he would. I just want to find out as much as possible before this escalates. I’ve told Karen how helpful both of you were when I had that trouble back in the spring, and that she can trust you. I’m committed to sticking close to Granford until we can get this mess with Jeffrey sorted out.”

  “Rick, you don’t have to jeopardize your campaign over this,” Karen snapped. “I can handle Jeffrey’s problems.”

  “Karen, forgive me, but I don’t think you’re doing such a great job of that,” Rick shot back.

  “Hey, guys, I’m in the room, you know,” Jeffrey protested. “And I’m not a problem to be handled, by either one of you. I’m not a child.”

  “I’m sorry, Jeffrey. You’re right,” Rick said, and he sounded like he meant it. But Meg wasn’t sure Karen was as happy with that situation.

  Meg turned to Jeffrey. “You know, we’re kind of in the dark here about the details. Can you at least run through the outline of what happened for us?”

  Jeffrey spoke before anyone else could interrupt him. “I went to pick up Mom’s fertilizer order at the feed store. I found this guy lying behind the store. I didn’t know him. He was either dead or pretty close to it. I tried to stop the bleeding and I called 911. That’s what I told the police about eighty times. What else can I say?”

  “Jeffrey!” his mother burst out. “You’re being rude.”

  Jeffrey turned toward her. “Mom, I think the fact that I found a bloody body and was questioned by the police for like three hours is enough of an excuse to be rude. I know they’re really interested in how I got his blood on me, but that only happened when I was trying to help him, to stop the bleeding. It was everywhere.”

  “Jeffrey, how old are you?” Seth asked suddenly.

  Once again Rick cut Jeffrey off. “He’s seventeen. In Massachusetts that means he can be tried as an adult. And he can make his own decisions.”

  “The police still haven’t identified the victim?” Meg asked.

  “No. The only thing they’ll say is that he isn’t a local high school student—they checked with someone at the school.”

  “Hello?” Jeffrey interrupted. “Does anyone want to listen to me? Like I keep telling everyone, I did not know this person. Not from school, not from Scouts, and not from any extracurricular activity, all right? Why would I want to harm him? Or anybody, for that matter?” Jeffrey said in a tone that seemed to Meg to be quite reasonable under the circumstances. “When I left the dig at the green last night, I drove over to the feed store and parked in the back, and that’s when I found the guy. He was on the ground, on his back. It was getting dark, so I couldn’t tell for sure if he was still alive. I knelt down and looked for a pulse, and I thought I found one. That’s probably when I got the blood on me. I know you’re not supposed to move anyone with a head injury, so I called 911 and just tried to keep him warm. And stayed there waiting for the police and the ambulance. That’s all.”

  Everything Jeffrey said made sense to Meg, and she wasn’t sure how anyone could suspect him based on that. He’d done things by the book, and acted quickly and appropriately. So why were they all here talking about it?

  “Do you believe him?” Rick asked Meg and Seth.

  “I do,” Meg said, and Seth nodded in agreement.

  “No ID on him?” Seth commented. “Isn’t that odd?”

  “Yes, most kids these days carry something—student ID, driver’s license, debit card. No phone, either. All of those could have been taken if this was a mugging or . . . something else.”

  “What about asking around the colleges, to see if the victim was a student?” Seth asked.

  “They’ll get to those if need be, but we’re talking thousands of students, and it’s Saturday, so the administrative staff isn’t there.”

  Meg realized that there was one significant omission in their conversation. “Jeffrey, where’s your father?” she asked. “Nobody’s mentioned him.”

  “He’s not really in the picture,” Rick said, answering before Jeffrey could.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Meg demanded. “Divorced? Separated? Deceased?”

  “My husband and I are separated,” Karen said stiffly.

  “Come on, Karen,” Rick said, “it’s more serious than that.” He turned to Meg and Seth. “Sam moved out a few months ago and took a job in another state. Before you slam him for abandoning Jeffrey, it was the only job he could find, and he needs to work since Karen doesn’t. It was Jeffrey who chose to stay behind, to finish high school. He’s an only child. I’m his only other relative. I should warn you, I’m afraid Karen’s main concern here will be how it impacts her public image.” The contempt in his tone was clear.

  “Rick!” Karen hissed at him.

  “Oh, cut the crap, Karen,” Rick said impatiently. “Jeffrey, when was the last time you saw your dad?”

  Jeffrey glanced at his mother before answering. “Uh, June? He took me out to lunch. He was in Boston for something—he lives in Ohio now.”

  Meg noted Jeffrey’s use of the word “lives,” like he knew his dad wasn’t coming back. “Karen, have you told Jeffrey’s father what’s going on here?” Meg demanded.

  “Do you even have his current phone number, Karen?” Rick demanded.

  “Stop it, both of you!” Jeffrey burst out. “There’s nothing he can do about it. He’s not here. This is my problem, and I have to deal with it.”

  “And you’ve been doing it so well, since the police still seem to think you’re a suspect,” Karen said, her voice sharp with sarcasm.

  Meg watched Jeffrey react. For a moment she thought he was going to lash out at his mother, but then he got himself under control. He stood up and stalked into the kitchen without saying a word. The adults in the room—Meg amended that to “so-called adults”—were left in uncomfortable silence. She waited for Karen to go after her son, and so did Rick, apparently. When that didn’t happen, Meg stood up herself and followed Jeffrey.

  She found him standing in front of the sink, drinking a glass of water and staring out the window. When Meg walked in, he turned toward her. “Sorry, that was rude of me.”

  “I don’t blame you, Jeffrey. Is your mother always so, uh, supportive?”

  He shrugged. “She hasn’t been the same since Dad left, although they weren’t getting along for a long time before that. But I guess now that he’s out of the picture, she’s been alternating between lashing out at me and ignoring me.”

  “I’m sorry. It must be hard for you, even without . . . what’s happened.” From the little she’d seen of the woman, Meg had a feeling that Karen would see herself as the victim in this drama, watching her social standing in Granford go down the drain. Her son couldn’t expect much help from that quarter. And whether Rick’s motives were sincere or merely practical, the fact remained that he didn’t live in Granford and wasn’t a full-time part of the family—and now he was a public figure. Jeffrey was legally and effectively an adult, and very much on his own.

  Her heart ached for him. He was trying so hard to be adult about what was happening to him. “Jeffrey, I think you’re doing a great job holding together. But if there’s anything you know about the boy you found, you need to tell Art or the state police.”

  “You think I’m hiding something?” He sounded honestly curious.

  “No, not really. Look, just tough it out. But please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you,” Meg said softly.

  Jeffrey looked surprised. “Help me? Not Mom or ‘the candidate’?” He made air quotes when he referred to his uncle. It
sounded as though Jeffrey didn’t think very highly of either of them.

  “Yes,” Meg said. “I’ve got a feeling those two have their own agendas. What are you going to do?”

  “Thank you for taking me seriously, Meg. To tell the truth, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. All I can say is that I did not assault that guy. I had no reason to kill him. I told you how and why I got the blood on me. I was trying to help. Won’t people believe that?”

  Meg looked at Jeffrey, the sweet, smart, eager Boy Scout who looked very young at the moment, and whose family seemed unable to provide any meaningful support. “Let’s hope so.” She took a deep breath. “It seems to me that the only way to prove that you didn’t injure the boy is to figure out who did.”

  “Isn’t that what the police are doing?” he asked.

  “It’s what they should be doing. It doesn’t always work out that way. That’s why people like Seth and me try to do what we can, without getting in the way. Most of what we can contribute comes because Seth is so connected to this town, on a lot of levels. We’ll try our best to sort this out. Does that work for you? I won’t make any promises I don’t think I can keep.”

  Finally Jeffrey smiled. “Yes, it does. I can’t ask you for anything more. And thank you.”

  Meg looked up to see Karen standing in the doorway. Meg wondered how much she had heard, or if it mattered.

  “Jeffrey, we’re going now,” Karen said, her tone brittle. “Thank you for your hospitality, Meg. We won’t be bothering you again.” She turned her gaze to her son. “Jeffrey? Now.”

  Jeffrey looked at Meg and shrugged, then followed his mother out. Meg trailed behind and said good-bye to Rick. She and Seth watched the family drive away together.

  Meg leaned against Seth and said, “Leave Jeffrey out of the equation and tell me why a black kid was hit over the head behind the feed store.”

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “I need to talk to the pickers, don’t I? Because they’re the only black faces I see around here.”

  “Statistically that’s true. But you don’t suspect the pickers, do you?”

  “No, I don’t. But someone is likely to.” She sighed. “You know, I never suspected there were such dark doings in Granford. It looks so peaceful.”

  “I’d say we’re about average. Messy divorces, kids with problems—that’s pretty ordinary. Still, overall it’s always been a peaceful place. At least, it was until you came to town.”

  11

  “I’m going over to the Historical Society now,” Seth said. “I’ll let you know if I find out anything new.”

  “Are you taking Max with you?”

  “Sure. I’ll take a long lead and let him stretch his legs on the green.”

  “Sounds good. For him, I mean.” Meg crossed the room to kiss him good-bye, although it was more for reassurance than anything else. “Poor Jeffrey,” she said into Seth’s chest.

  “What about the poor victim?” Seth responded.

  “Well, of course it’s terrible for him, but I don’t know him. And I do know Jeffrey, a little.” Was he capable of being violent, and then lying to conceal it? She didn’t think so. Could her judgment of his character be that far wrong? “I’m not convinced that Jeffrey was involved in any way, other than being unlucky enough to find the victim. But I’ve been wrong before, so I’ll keep an open mind, if Art or the state police come up with something substantial. Let’s hope he finds out who the boy is.” She gave Seth another quick squeeze. “Now, go.”

  As soon as Seth had gone out the door, Bree sneaked down the back stairs. “Is the coast clear?”

  “Yes, they’re all gone, but I can’t tell you a lot more. Jeffrey called the police when he found a teenager behind the feed store who’d been fatally injured. The police questioned him, but he said he’d never met the boy and they let him go home with his mother, so maybe there’s nothing to it.”

  “No way!” Bree exclaimed as she helped herself to coffee. “Is this the same Jeffrey who found the skeleton at the Historical Society the other day?”

  “It is, and Rick Sainsbury is his uncle.” Meg hesitated before plunging on, “Bree, because this dead boy was black, I think the police are going to want to talk to the pickers.”

  Bree turned to face Meg, but her expression was hard to read.

  Meg went on, cautiously, “You know as well as I do how few people of color there are in Granford.”

  “So, because they’re black and he’s black, you think they know this dead guy?”

  “Well . . . possibly. There are quite a few pickers around here this time of year, and most people in town don’t know them. I thought maybe you or we could ask our crew, see if anybody knows the victim.”

  Bree sat down with her muffin and coffee. “You want me to pump our crew for information?”

  “No! Just find out if they know who he might be. I gather he’s younger than most of the guys here, but he could still be a relative. It’s worth asking, isn’t it?”

  Bree gave her a look of contempt. “Hell, they probably wouldn’t know anything yet. This happened, what, last night? You know how these guys live—their families are usually somewhere else, they come here and camp out wherever they can find a room, sometimes lots of guys in a room. So even if he was a picker, nobody’s likely to be keeping track of this guy. Anyway, he could have been a student at UMass, or could have come from Holyoke or Chicopee or Springfield, right? You don’t have to jump to the conclusion that he’s Jamaican.”

  “But it’s possible,” Meg said, surprised by her own stubbornness. Of course she didn’t assume the boy was Jamaican, but in Granford it was clearly a possibility. “Look, Bree, if you’re uncomfortable with this, you don’t have to say or do anything. As you say, it may have nothing to do with the Jamaicans here, or even with Granford.”

  “But Candidate Sainsbury wants to be sure his shiny Boy Scout nephew doesn’t mess up his campaign, right?”

  “Maybe,” Meg admitted. “To be honest, it crossed my mind. But at least he’s not asking us to make this go away quietly, or to pin this on someone else. He said that he just wants to get the facts straight—and, I assume, to keep Jeffrey out of it if possible. The fact that Jeffrey found the body and that he had the guy’s blood on him means he’s already got two strikes against him.”

  Bree made a huffing noise and turned away, looking out the window and avoiding Meg’s eyes. She was silent for several moments. “I’m not going to badger the people I work with. And I’m not going to snoop. If they know something, they’re bound to talk about it. Although maybe not always in front of me, because I’m not one of them—I’m management and I’m a woman. But if they say something, I’ll ask them what they know, and I’ll tell you and Seth what I find out. Is that good enough?”

  “That’s all I’m asking, Bree. I just want to know if they know who the boy is.” And who might have reason to attack him, but that question could wait for later, if Bree heard anything.

  “Yeah, sure.” Bree stood up abruptly, ending the conversation. “I’m going up the hill. You coming?”

  “I’ve got a couple of phone calls to make, and then I’ll be up.”

  “Giving me some alone time with the pickers, are you?”

  “Bree, it’s not like that!” Meg protested. “If I’m going to help Jeffrey, I want to talk to Gail, to get her take on him, and to get Miranda Melvin’s number from her, because Miranda has spent some time with Jeffrey now. If she saw him pitch a temper tantrum at the dig site or something, we need to know that. That’s all.”

  “Fine.” Bree stood up abruptly, her chair screeching across the floor, startling Lolly, who’d been sleeping on top of the refrigerator. “See you later.”

  She stalked out, leaving Meg wondering if she had mishandled the situation. She didn’t see how. She’d thought it would be better that Bree ask the
pickers a few questions than to have the police tramping all over the place questioning the men in the midst of their busiest season.

  With a sigh, Meg picked up her cell phone. Gail had young children, so Meg knew she’d be up, possibly even already out and about, on this Saturday morning.

  Gail picked up on the second ring. “Hi, Meg,” she said cheerily, then added in a lower voice, “you heard about, uh, Jeffrey’s latest find?”

  “I did. Art called Seth last night. Where are you?”

  “At the Historical Society, of course. My husband is watching the kids. Were you looking for Seth? He’s around here somewhere. You want me to find him?”

  “No, I wanted a phone number for Miranda. Is she there, too?”

  “No. She wrapped up the archaeology part yesterday, but said she wasn’t sure when she could get to the autopsy. I told you, she was on sabbatical last year, so she’s playing catch-up now, getting her classes sorted out. I suppose if that poor man has been dead for two hundred and fifty years, a couple more weeks won’t matter much. Why do you need her?”

  Meg laughed. “Let me know what she finds about the skeleton, whenever it is, will you? But right now I just wanted her take on Jeffrey.”

  “Of course,” Gail answered. “Hang on a sec, and I’ll get the number off my phone.” Meg waited until Gail retrieved the information and read her the number. “Thanks. I can wait until Monday to call her. Have you heard anything else?”

  Gail laughed. “You’re asking me? You practically live with the point man for anything relating to Granford.”

  “Just wondering. Oh, by any chance, is Jeffrey there?”

  “He is, much to my surprise. Of course, it is Saturday, so no school. Not that Jeffrey would be likely to tell me what’s going on, and I’m not about to ask him. And I don’t know his mother well enough to ask her. She’d probably think it was kind of weird if I called. I’d guess they’re both going to put on a stiff upper lip and pretend it’s business as usual. And to be fair, from what I hear, Jeffrey did exactly what the first aid manual says, and we don’t know anything more than that.” Gail sighed, then perked up as she said, “Oops, the foreman wants me—gotta go!” She hung up.