“And you told the police that you didn’t know who his current friends were?”
“That was the truth, and that was what I told them. I kept silent only about the troubles he had before he came over—it seemed wrong to speak ill of the dead, and he was my blood.”
“I’m so sorry this happened, Hector. I think you did your best for him. I’d be happy to have you back here, if you’re looking for a place.”
“You are kind to offer. Perhaps next year, but I am set for now, and my employer is also a fair man. But he grows vegetables, and I do prefer the apples.” Hector smiled, although it took an effort. “I should let you return to your dinner preparations. And thank you for trying to find out what happened to Novaro. My sister will be grateful as well.”
“I only want to help, Hector.”
They found themselves back at Meg’s back door, where Raynard was leaning against his dusty truck, his eyes on the orchard. He straightened up when Hector and Meg returned, and as Hector climbed into the passenger side, Raynard took Meg aside. “Is everything all right?”
Meg nodded. “I think so. I feel so sorry for Hector—he thought he was doing the right thing, and then this happens. I’ll let you know if I hear anything new. Thanks for bringing him over.” She watched the truck pull away before going back to the kitchen.
“What was that all about?” Bree asked when Meg walked in. “I saw you and Hector out in the meadow.”
“I asked Raynard if he could get me together with Hector—I wanted to find out more about Novaro. Raynard brought him over.”
“Did you learn much?”
“Not a lot. Mainly that he’d had some trouble back home, and that he seemed totally ungrateful once he got here—blew off the job and the lodging and went his own way. Hector doesn’t seem to know where he went. Maybe the police will have better luck.”
“Don’t count on it. Anyway, what are the plans for dinner?”
“I’m going to call and invite Sam and Jeffrey over. Stay and eat with us? You’re closer in age to Jeffrey than either Seth or me, and it might help Jeffrey feel more comfortable with us all.”
“At least you didn’t put us at the kiddie table,” Bree said, grinning to offset her sarcasm. Meg quickly dialed Sam and settled the details, then came back to where Bree was laying out cutlery and plates on the hastily cleared dining room table.
“You know what I mean,” Meg said, picking up the thread of conversation. “Sometimes I think I was never young. That’s one reason I sympathize with Jeffrey. I was always the serious, studious, completely boring kid in my high school. Anything I belonged to, I was always vice president, never president, because I was responsible, but nobody ever saw me as leadership material.” If they saw me at all, she added to herself. Sometimes she’d wondered if she was invisible. Yet she had had more friends than Jeffrey seemed to—hadn’t she?
“Stop apologizing, Meg. I get it. I don’t want to see this get pinned on him any more than you do. Unless, of course, he actually did kill the guy.”
“I don’t think the police have enough real evidence to pin this on anyone yet.” Meg still couldn’t point to anyone else, but she didn’t see Jeffrey as guilty, although she had no right to claim to know him well, just because she thought she recognized something of her long-ago self in him. Still, he was innocent until proven guilty, right?
It had been nearly a week now since Novaro’s death. If no one was ever charged, would the suspicion forever hang over Jeffrey? Somehow they all needed resolution—which meant finding who had killed Novaro.
Sam and Jeffrey came down the hill on foot from Seth’s house shortly before seven. “Thanks a lot for inviting us for dinner, Meg,” Sam said. “You know, there never were many restaurants in Granford. I was glad to see the new pizza place, but I’m not looking forward to eating there twice a day.”
Seth came into the kitchen. “Sorry, I haven’t kept the fridge stocked up at the house.”
“Hey, don’t apologize! We’re grateful for the beds.” Sam turned to Meg. “I was looking at your land as we walked over, Meg. How large is your orchard?”
Meg dished vegetables and rice into serving bowls, then handed them off to Bree to take to the dining table. “The place came with fifteen acres, right up the hill. I also lease another three from Seth, and this past year we planted those with a mix of steady producers and heirloom varieties. You must have walked past those.”
“Those trees are tiny!” Jeffrey said. “How long before they produce apples?”
“It’ll be a couple of years, but at the moment I’m just happy they’ve settled in well.”
“Did you always want to be a farmer . . . Meg?” Jeffrey asked. Meg found his hesitation to use her first name endearing.
“Not at all! I used to be a financial analyst for a bank, until I lost my job. My mom owned this place but hadn’t seen it in years, so she thought it would be a good idea to send me here to fix things up. I didn’t even know there was an orchard until I arrived. How about you, Jeffrey? Do you know what you want to do?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t really decided.”
Meg hurried to reassure him. “That’s fine—you’re not supposed to have all the answers at your age. But if you want to know more about farming or orchards, you should ask Bree. She got her degree from UMass not too long ago, and she knows a whole lot more than I do.” Meg handed Seth a platter of chicken. “Dinner’s ready. This is a treat for us—we don’t get to use the dining room all that often. If you look carefully, you’ll notice that most of the woodwork in the room is original to the house.”
“That’s cool,” Jeffrey said. “When was it built?”
“I think around 1760, although I’m still looking for documents to prove that, but the town didn’t officially exist then—it was still part of South Hadley. Gail at the Historical Society has been a big help finding things for me. She’s going to be thrilled to have all her records in one place.”
Jeffrey turned to Bree. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re not from around here, are you?”
Bree bobbed her head. “I was born in Massachusetts, but my parents were both from Jamaica. I spent most of my life here in the state, living with my aunt.”
Dinner was a surprisingly comfortable and normal event. There was plenty of food, and both Jeffrey and Sam relaxed. They even managed to joke with each other, which Meg found an encouraging sign. Once again she reminded herself that she shouldn’t take Karen’s rather grim view of her son as the only one; from what Meg was seeing now, Jeffrey did have a lighter side, and even a sense of humor. It was clear how much he cared for his dad. She felt a surge of pity for Karen, for what she was missing.
When they’d finished eating, Bree said, “I’ll clean up. Is there dessert?”
“I cheated and bought cupcakes on the way home,” Seth said. “You can turn up your noses if you want.”
“I never turn down dessert,” Jeffrey said happily.
“You must get that from me,” Sam added. He sat back in his chair and stretched. “I can’t tell you how great this was, Meg. Not only that you fed us, but that you welcomed us into your home.”
The cupcakes disappeared quickly. Bree loaded the dishwasher and disappeared discreetly up the back stairs after saying good night.
Sam waited until she was gone, then said, “And now, I think, we’ve really got to talk.”
Jeff’s expression shut down again. “You mean me, too?”
“Yes, you, too,” Sam said. “You’re the one stuck in the middle of this. We need to hear your side of things.”
Meg hesitated a moment, reluctant to disturb the ease they’d achieved over dinner, but it was important. “Jeffrey, I know you’ve said this all before, more than once, but can we go over this one more time?” Seth signaled his agreement.
“What, finding Novaro? Sure, I guess.”
&n
bsp; “Let me start with what we know.” Seth ticked off the main points on his fingers. “You were at the feed store to pick up your mother’s order, right?”
Jeffrey nodded.
“You drove around back,” Seth continued, “where Jake Stebbins said he’d leave the order for you. Was it dark?”
“Maybe halfway—it was around seven, I think. There aren’t any lights back there, but I could still see pretty well.”
“And you found Novaro Miller lying outside the building?”
“That’s right.”
“You didn’t see anyone else there? Anyone running away?”
“Nope. And it looked like he’d been lying there for a while, because there was a lot of blood.”
“You checked to see if he was alive?”
“Yeah. I thought maybe he had a pulse, so I checked but wasn’t sure, then I called 911 and just waited there. Oh, and I put my jacket over him—I thought he might be in shock or something and I figured he should be kept warm.”
“You’d never seen Novaro before?”
“I never met the guy,” Jeffrey replied.
“Did you see his car?” Meg asked.
“Uh, maybe?” Jeffrey looked at Meg. “I think there was one parked in front when I pulled in, but I wasn’t paying attention to it.”
“There was no one in the store?”
“Not that I noticed,” Jeffrey said. “The lights inside were turned off.”
“Was the back door open or unlocked?”
“I didn’t check. I pulled in, looking for some big bags of fertilizer. And then I saw the kid, all bloody. I didn’t need to go inside—I had my cell, so I used that to call the police. And I figured the less I messed with stuff, the better it would be. I touched him just to see if he was still alive. I might have gotten blood on my hands then, and wiped them on my clothes. I was upset.”
Sam leaned forward. “Jeffrey, you did everything right. You were careful, and you called the authorities.” He turned back to Meg and Seth. “Look, he’s told you all he knows. He did not know this Novaro person, and he certainly didn’t attack him. My son does not lie.”
“We believe you, Sam,” Seth said. “And we believe Jeffrey. We’re just looking for another angle to follow. Somebody attacked Novaro, and at the moment we have no evidence pointing at anybody else.”
Meg turned to Seth. “Did you hear anything new today?”
He didn’t answer immediately, which led Meg to suspect he was trying to edit his reply. “I’ve lined up a couple more people to talk to,” he said cautiously. Meg made a mental note to check with Seth about whether he had managed to set up a meeting with a teacher, or even the principal.
“Nothing new from the cops?” Sam demanded.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Seth said. “What was it like at school today, Jeffrey?”
“Weird. Some people went out of their way to stay about six feet away from me in the halls. Other people who had never talked to me before were suddenly all over me, asking questions. A couple of guys tried to make fun of me—you know, calling me ‘Killer Boy Scout.’ Sounds like a bad movie, doesn’t it?”
“Do you often have trouble like that at school?” Sam asked.
Jeffrey looked at his father. “You mean bullying? It happens, everywhere, I guess. I ignore it as much as I can. I’m lucky that I’m big enough to stand up to them. Some of the younger, smaller kids are easy targets.”
Jeffrey didn’t seem too disturbed about whatever bullying he had faced. Meg wondered how accurate his description was. While he wasn’t a fighter, he was a six-footer, not some poor freshman still waiting for his growth spurt.
“How did you get involved in the Scouting thing?” Seth asked.
Jeffrey glanced at his dad again before answering. “Well, after Mom had trotted me through a lot of other activities, none of which stuck, I thought I’d try the Scouts, although I joined kind of late—a lot of the local kids started out together years ago in Cub Scouts, but at the Boy Scout level they combine kids from a couple of the local towns, so I wasn’t the only newcomer. Of course, once I was in, Mom decided I should try to win some award for most merit badges in a short time, or something stupid like that. But to be honest, she wasn’t so far off in this case. I like projects—something interesting that I can finish. I like competing, and trying to move up. And I learn a lot of stuff—like for this history project. But nobody is pressuring me about it, and I get to set my own goals, so that’s good.”
To Meg it looked like Jeffrey knew himself better than his mother knew him. “Were you a Scout, Sam?” she asked.
“Yeah, years ago, but I never went as far as Jeffrey here. He was telling me last night about that archaeology badge, and how he noticed that skull during the excavation project. If Jeffrey hadn’t spotted them, that guy’s bones might have ended up in a landfill somewhere.”
“Dad!” Jeffrey protested. “It wasn’t that big a deal.”
“You were paying attention, and that’s important.” Sam turned to look at Meg and Seth. “Was there anything else you wanted to talk about? Anything we’re supposed to do?”
“Not unless the police have any more questions,” Meg said.
“Look, we’re all tired, and Jeffrey probably has homework. We can regroup tomorrow,” Sam said, and stood up. “Thanks again for the hospitality. I hope we won’t be in your hair much longer. Jeffrey, you ready? You should call your mother tonight, and we’ve still got to walk back.”
“Yeah, let’s go. Thank you, Meg, Seth.”
Sam and Jeffrey went out the back door and into the dark. When she had shut the door, Meg turned to Seth. “What did you think?”
“I think Sam is a great guy, but he may be as blind to his son’s qualities as Karen is, although in a different way.”
“Is that all?” Meg asked.
Seth cocked his head at her. “Why do you ask? Do you have a bee in your bonnet?”
“Nothing I can put my finger on,” Meg said. “Oops, not a good metaphor, putting my finger on a bee. Or maybe it is, if by doing that I get stung.”
Seth looked exasperated. “Meg, it’s been a long day. What are you talking about?”
“There are things about this attack on Novaro that I don’t understand,” Meg said slowly. “Before you came home, Raynard brought Novaro’s uncle Hector over so we could talk. Poor man—he only wanted to help his nephew. Anyway, Hector hinted that Novaro had had some troubles before he left Jamaica. I suppose the police will look into that, although Hector said he hadn’t told the police everything, because he might have lied on Novaro’s visa application and he was afraid he’d get in trouble. But the bottom line is, nobody has come up with a good reason why Novaro was at the feed store that night.”
Seth nodded. “That’s a good point. There’s nothing there to interest a guy his age. It’s out of sight, but it’s on the main highway—so maybe he was meeting someone and didn’t want to be observed?”
“Someone like who?” Meg shot back. “Someone he couldn’t meet openly in public?”
“I wish I had any suggestions, but I don’t,” Seth said.
Meg switched topics. “Did you get in touch with anyone at the school?”
“Yes, we’re going to meet with his history teacher, Mr. Dillenberger, at five tomorrow. Mr. Dillenberger was teaching there when I was in school, and he’s a smart guy—and observant. We couldn’t get away with much in his class. That’s why I wanted to see him, especially since we know Jeffrey’s interested in history.”
“Okay, sounds good. What about the Scoutmaster?”
“Jeez, woman, you don’t ask for much,” Seth teased. “He said he’d see us after a meeting tomorrow evening, at eight. If we can stay awake that long. Which means we should get some sleep now, though first I’ve got to take Max out.”
“I’ll go on up, then. Seth,
I don’t mean to be pushy, but I want to see this thing solved. Jeffrey’s got enough problems in his life without dealing with an assault accusation hanging over his head, even if he’s never charged.”
“Meg, you can’t fix everything.”
20
Another beautiful September day, one of those clear, bright ones New England was famous for. Was it Wednesday? It was hard for Meg to keep track these days. The good news: the weather was cooperating with the harvest. The bad news: there were still an awful lot of apples to be picked.
Seth had left early. Bree hadn’t been happy when Meg told her she needed to quit a little early to meet Seth at the high school at five.
“You’re seriously telling me that the police haven’t already talked to everybody in town by now?” Bree said, banging plates on the table. Lolly jumped down from her perch and fled to a quieter place.
“I’m sure they have,” Meg said, “but they don’t know the people involved. Seth does, at least in a different way.”
“So send him alone. Why do you need to be there?”
“I want to hear what people say,” Meg replied. “In case you’ve never noticed, women hear things differently, and ask different questions. I’m still trying to get a handle on Jeffrey’s character and personality.”
“Okay,” Bree said cautiously. “So what makes you think that a high school teacher will be able to tell you if one kid out of a couple of hundred is hiding a violent streak?”
“Seth knows this teacher—he had him in high school—and he trusts his judgment. He’ll have seen a lot of kids go by in his time, and he may have some useful insights. So, pretty please, may I have an hour or two off at the end of the day?”
“I guess.” Bree sat down heavily and munched on some toast.
Between bites of her own toast, Meg said, “I just keep coming back to the same question: why would Novaro be where he was found when he had no reason to be there, as far as anyone knows?”
Picked to Die (An Orchard Mystery) Page 18