Picked to Die (An Orchard Mystery)

by Sheila Connolly

  “Hey, Karen, thanks for coming! I know you must have a lot on your mind, but I thought you should see the progress we’ve made. It’s moving really fast. We’ve already taken pictures. Come on and take a look.”

  Karen glanced briefly at Meg, hovering nearby, but didn’t greet her. “Let’s get this over with. Is the project on schedule?”

  “Sure is. Seth Chapin pulled together a good crew . . .” Gail’s voice faded out as she led Karen over toward the building. Karen moved stiffly, as if reluctant to be there—or afraid of dirtying her delicate shoes—but Gail more than made up for it, gesturing broadly as she pointed out details. Even if she hadn’t known already, Meg could see clearly how much Gail cared about this whole project, while Karen was just going through the motions. Had Karen always been like this? Or was it the events of the past week that had sapped her attention and enthusiasm?

  Finally Gail wound down, and turned and pointed toward Meg. From what Meg could see of Karen’s expression as she looked her way, she did not look happy. Meg decided to approach quickly before the other woman could bolt.

  “Hello, Karen,” Meg said. “Can we talk?”

  “Why should I talk to you? I gather your . . . fiancé is harboring my ex-husband, and he’s made off with my son.”

  “Seth offered Sam a place to stay, and Jeffrey chose to stay with him, that’s all.”

  “What do you think you and I have to say to each other?”

  “Sit down and I’ll tell you.”

  After wavering for a long moment, Karen sat on the bench.

  “Uh, I have to go get something at the store,” Gail broke in. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

  Meg recognized that as a lame excuse, but Karen didn’t seem to notice.

  “So, talk,” Karen said.

  18

  Since Meg hadn’t had much time to formulate a plan, she wasn’t sure how to start. She didn’t know Karen, and nothing that she’d seen of her offered an easy lead-in to what promised to be a difficult discussion. She decided she might as well get to the point.

  “Karen, I only met your son Jeffrey for the first time last week. But what matters now is that I have some personal experience with police investigations, and how the local police work. I don’t think your son has done anything wrong, but so far he’s the only suspect they have.”

  “Surely the state police will find a more appropriate suspect,” Karen said stiffly.

  “Well, of course we hope so. But Seth and I want to help him get out from under this, and in order to do that, we need to know more about Jeffrey. Can you help us with that?”

  Karen didn’t respond immediately. She was still wearing her oversized sunglasses, so Meg couldn’t see her eyes, but up close she could see a few lines and creases, a softening of the jawline. Karen sat stiffly, as if she was afraid she would break, and she was painfully thin; it had taken more than a week of worry to reach that condition.

  Finally Karen shook her head. “There’s no one else to talk to,” she said softly, to no one in particular. Then she turned sharply toward Meg. “Do you want to know how many of my so-called friends have called me this past week? None. None at all. I grew up in this town, and I’ve lived here all my life. My son goes to school here. And nobody cares enough to check in and see how I’m doing. Do you have any idea how that feels? Do you?”

  Meg wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Clearly Karen was in pain, but she apparently had no idea that she was the one who had brought that on herself. And, worse, once again she was making it about her, not Jeffrey. The woman apparently didn’t have a maternal bone in her body—and most of her bones were visible.

  “Actually, Karen, I do. When I first moved here, I was accused of murder. I didn’t know a soul in town. The man who died was someone I knew and he was found on my property, so it was no surprise that everyone suspected me. I didn’t have anyone to turn to, and nobody offered to help me. But I didn’t do it, and I proved it. Don’t you want to clear Jeffrey’s name? If this attack is never solved, it will hang over him for years.”

  “Of course I want to clear him,” she snapped. “This can’t be allowed to drag on. But what are you suggesting? My brother Rick has already talked to the police, and he’s monitoring the situation closely.”

  Of course he was, even if Meg still wasn’t sure she trusted his motives. “Karen, I’m sure that’s helpful, and I’m not criticizing the police, but what I think Seth and I can bring to this is the human factor, if you will. Look, I helped the police to identify the dead boy, Novaro Miller, who is related to one of my former employees. So that’s one plus.”

  Karen didn’t say anything, and being unable to see her eyes behind the glasses was unnerving to Meg, but she decided to push on anyway. “As you probably know from your brother, I’ve only lived in Granford for the past two years, but I’m going to marry Seth Chapin, who has a very long history with the town. Seth and I know people around here, and we can talk to them—and, more important, they’ll talk to us. As neighbors and as friends. I think that the more we know about Jeffrey, the better we’ll be able to help him—to ask the right questions, to look in the right direction. And obviously you know him better than anyone else. Tell me about him.”

  Karen still didn’t speak, and Meg held her breath. Finally Karen’s shoulders slumped. “Jeffrey was always such a good child,” she said softly. “I had an easy delivery, and he met or surpassed all of the tests. Apgar, is it?” She didn’t seem to expect an answer. “He never had colic. He slept through the night quite early. He did everything right, according to all the baby books. And he was sweet and thoughtful, which is rare in a small child. He could always tell when I was upset. He’d even bring me his favorite bunny to comfort me.” Karen smiled, but there was a tear or two emerging from under those dark glasses, and she wiped them away impatiently. “He always did well in school, and he never got into trouble.”

  “What about extracurricular activities?” Meg asked.

  “He tried a lot of things. Sports—but he wasn’t big enough for football, and he wasn’t quick enough for basketball. He took music lessons, on several instruments, and he practiced diligently, but he didn’t really have a musical ear. He likes to read. I was happy when he joined the Boy Scouts, because I thought he’d meet boys there who were more like him.”

  From what she knew of Boy Scouts, Meg thought Jeffrey fit the image well. She seemed to remember terms like “honor,” “duty,” “obedience,” and “helpfulness” in the motto. “Is he happy with Scouting?”

  Karen shrugged. “He hasn’t made a lot of friends, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s more interested in the badges, and the challenge of collecting them and moving up. He’s very goal-oriented. Competitive.”

  Meg wondered whether it was Jeffrey who was competitive, or if Karen had been the one pushing him to stand out—but now was not the time to find out. Since Karen had opened the door, Meg felt compelled to ask, “Did he have friends at school?”

  “No one he talked about. No one he brought home. Sometimes I worried about that . . .” Karen trailed off. “But he was so good. Always polite, thoughtful, considerate. He even kept his room clean, for God’s sake!” Now her voice was shrill. “What was I supposed to do about a boy who’s too good?”

  “How did he take your split with your husband?” Meg asked.

  “He was quiet. He was even more polite. He treated me like I was made of china. Do you know, I really did wish he’d yell at me, or show some sort of emotion? He almost scared me, he was so calm. Of course, he’s intelligent, so it probably wasn’t a surprise to him when Sam and I split up—he would have seen it coming.”

  Karen’s description troubled Meg. Was Jeffrey really so devoid of emotion? What was the term—“affectless”? Jeffrey appeared to have few or no friends, and he’d navigated through his parents’ divorce without any obvious reaction. Maybe there was both more a
nd less to Jeffrey Green than she had thought.

  “Did Jeffrey ever get any counseling?” Meg asked. Did you, Karen?

  “You mean a psychologist? A therapist?”

  “Yes.”

  “I never thought he needed one,” Karen snapped. “I’m supposed to tell a therapist that I think my son needs help because he’s too good?”

  Meg resisted the urge to shake the cold woman in front of her. Karen had no idea what was going on in her son’s mind, and apparently no interest in finding out. And she wasn’t about to send him to someone who might be able to help him. Why not? Was she afraid of what she and Jeffrey might find out? Concerned that it would reflect badly on her parenting skills and upset her perfectly structured little world?

  Time to switch to a more neutral topic, before Meg said something unforgivable and shut down any hope of getting some insights from Karen. “Is Jeffrey close to any of his other relatives?”

  Karen shook her head several times. “Maybe he used to be, with his father. Sam is so much more . . . open than I am. He and Jeffrey had fun together. He made Jeffrey laugh. They even got dirty together. So when we separated, I knew that Jeffrey would lose all that.”

  “What about with your brother?”

  “You’ve met Rick—he’s been too busy building his career, and now running for office, to spend much time with Jeffrey, and his children are much younger. I’d say they have a cordial relationship, but not a particularly warm one. I had hoped that Rick might bring Jeffrey into his campaign, but Jeffrey declined—he said what Rick needed was a staff that was good with people, and Jeffrey couldn’t see himself in that role. He was right, of course, but I thought it would have been good for him. And Sam’s an only child, so there aren’t many relatives on that side.”

  “Is Jeffrey dating anyone?” Meg asked.

  “Jeffrey’s too young to get involved with anyone,” Karen said stiffly. “He’ll be going to college next year, where he’s more likely to meet someone appropriate.”

  Was it true that Jeffrey had never found himself a girlfriend, or was that just Karen’s wishful thinking? Meg had no way of knowing. And if Jeffrey was really so disengaged from the world around him, or at least the people in it, then maybe he really did need psychological help, and it was pretty clear that Karen wasn’t about to provide it. Maybe she or Seth needed to talk to Sam about all this.

  Then she stopped herself. Meg, this is not your problem! Right now you want to know who killed Novaro, period.

  Karen stood up abruptly, startling Meg. “I have another meeting to go to. Was there anything else you wanted?”

  Meg stood up as well. “I think that’s enough for now. Thank you, Karen. You’ve been very helpful.” More than you know, and probably more than you intended, although it doesn’t get us any closer to solving the murder. “Will you be seeing Jeffrey today?”

  “I . . . don’t know.” Karen seemed at a loss. “I’ll call him when he gets out of school. I’m glad you found our conversation helpful. And . . . thank you for being a friend to Jeffrey.” She turned and marched off to her car without a backward look, her back straight.

  Karen had barely pulled away when Gail emerged from the store across the green and trotted over to the bench where Meg was sitting. “I’ve been watching,” Gail said. “Karen actually stayed quite a while—I don’t think I’ve ever had that long a conversation with the woman. What did she say, or can’t you talk about it?”

  “Well, I don’t think I have any right to claim confidentiality, but I’m not sure where this lapses into gossip. You can be discreet about it, can’t you?”

  “Of course,” Gail said.

  “The whole thing makes me sad, and it worries me. I don’t know that I’ve ever met a colder person. She seems totally lacking in empathy. And she accuses Jeffrey of being “too good”—though she may be on to something there. If Jeffrey had been a more challenging child, if he’d pushed her boundaries a bit, Karen might have been a different person. Too late for that.”

  “But what did she say about the assault on that kid?”

  Meg sighed. “We didn’t really get into that. I was taking it slow, trying to get a sense of Jeffrey as a person, and what Karen was saying really bothers me. I mean, the kid has virtually no friends and doesn’t seem to be dating anyone. He’s either completely shut down emotionally, or he doesn’t feel anything anyway. And his mother sees nothing wrong with that. He’s a kid who gives her no trouble, and if he seems a little isolated, well, she thinks that will work itself out in college. Although her description of her son makes him sound a lot like her, so it’s not surprising that she doesn’t see much wrong with that. The saving factor is that she says he had a much more open relationship with his father—they had fun together when he was around. I’m going to have to see them together for more than five minutes to get any sense of where they are now.”

  “How does all this fit with whatever happened behind the feed store?” Gail pressed again.

  “I really don’t know. Jeffrey seems like a really nice kid. But that’s based on my long and close relationship of one week with the boy.” Meg looked Gail in the eye. “Maybe he’s a psychopath and I can’t see it. But I think it’s more likely that he’s a sad and lonely kid who’s very tightly wound, and he’s juggling a lot of stress. There’s something else going on here.”

  “Is he dating with anyone?”

  “I asked the same question, and Karen brushed it off—said he didn’t need that in his life now.”

  “Wow!” Gail responded. “Has she visited the high school lately? You can cut the hormones in the air with a knife.”

  “I’ll believe it. But if Jeff was involved with anyone, I doubt he’d tell his mother.”

  “I agree!” Gail replied, grinning.

  Meg looked at her watch. “Shoot, Bree is going to have my hide if I don’t get back and get some work done. Thanks for setting this up, Gail. I think I learned a lot from Karen, even if I don’t like much of it. At least I don’t think I’ve made anything worse, and Karen knows there are other people who are trying to help.”

  “There is that. Good luck.”

  19

  As Meg drove back to her orchard, she decided to invite Sam and Jeffrey over to dinner, but her plans to call them were scotched when as soon as she parked in her driveway she found Raynard Lawrence, accompanied by another Jamaican man she found vaguely familiar-looking, who had to be Hector Dixon. So Raynard had succeeded in finding him so they could talk, and maybe she’d find out something useful about Novaro.

  “Meg, I told Hector that you wished to speak to him, to learn more about his nephew, and as it happened he had finished for the day,” Raynard said as Meg got out of her car. “I hope this is a convenient time for you.”

  “Of course!” Meg said quickly. “Do you want to come in?”

  “I am more comfortable outside,” Hector said, “if you don’t mind. May we walk?”

  “You two talk, then. Hector,” Raynard said, “I will wait here to give you a ride home, but there’s no need to hurry.”

  Meg mouthed a thank-you to Raynard, and she and Hector set off across the meadow, rather than toward the orchard. After they had walked perhaps fifty feet in silence, Meg asked, “Novaro was your sister’s son?”

  “He was. She has several younger ones at home. She lost her husband some years ago, and the rest of our family tries to help her out. That is why I found the position for Novaro. I hope you did not think that I left your employ because of how I was treated here. It was that I knew you could not take on an extra worker, and this other man could.”

  “You don’t need to apologize to me, Hector—I understand the problem. So you and Novaro came over together?”

  “We did. At first he stayed with me and some others, older men like me, but he wasn’t interested in our activities. Nor was he very happy with the work, even thou
gh he had grown up listening to the family talk about it and knew what to expect.” Hector’s pace slowed, but he did not look at Meg but at the distant row of trees instead. “There are some things I have not told the police, Meg.”

  Meg all but held her breath, waiting. Let him tell his story at his own pace.

  “You see, I was the one who filled out the visa application forms for Novaro, and there were certain facts that I feared would disqualify him, so I did not include them. He had had some small problems with the law back home—he had fallen in with a bad crowd, and as he had nothing better to do with his time there, he got into trouble. I had hoped—as did my sister—that getting him away from certain friends would set him back on the right path, but it did not turn out that way.”

  Hector fudging Novaro’s visa application might explain his earlier reluctance to go to the police. “What happened next?”

  “Novaro quit the job, then came to me and said he would no longer be staying where we stayed. I told the boy that without a job he could not remain in the country, but he did not seem concerned.”

  “Did he ask you for money?”

  “I had nothing to give him. We had just begun the season, so we had little. And what I earn, I send back to Jamaica.”

  “Do you know how he was supporting himself, in that case?”

  Hector stopped then and turned to Meg. “I do not. I lost sight of him after he quit, and as I told the police, I did not even know where to look for him. Meg, please do not think badly of the rest of us because of the thoughtless acts of one young man. It may be that he found another bad crowd here, but he did not tell me. His mother had not heard anything of this, until I called to tell her that he was dead. I suppose that cross she gave him was of little use to him—I was surprised he even kept it.”