Picked to Die (An Orchard Mystery)

by Sheila Connolly

  Bree stopped to look at her. “Meg, the way I see it, there are two choices here. One, some random stranger beat up and killed Novaro Miller, and happened to dump him behind the feed store because it was an isolated spot. Two: Mr. Perfect Boy Scout Jeffrey Green gets into it with Novaro, for reasons unknown, and goes berserk. Heck, maybe Jeffrey had a psychotic break and doesn’t even remember doing it.”

  Meg sighed. “Neither one makes a lot of sense.”

  “No, they don’t, and there’s no evidence for either one,” Bree retorted. “But, of course, now that you know Jeffrey, you want to fix his life for him. What’s the happy ending going to be?”

  Meg smiled ruefully. “Jeffrey rides off to an Ivy League college a long way from home. And Karen gets some therapy. And Sam finds a nice woman who appreciates him. And Seth and I can find time to plan a wedding.”

  “Good luck with that!” Bree snorted, standing up from the table. “Anybody extra going to show up at the dinner table tonight?”

  “I doubt it. Seth and I are going to meet with Jeffrey’s Scoutmaster in the evening, so we’ll probably pick up something on the way.”

  “Great. Maybe Michael and I can get together,” Bree said as they headed out the door.

  As she picked apples all morning, Meg mulled over why she and Seth hadn’t gotten around to doing much wedding planning yet. In some ways they seemed like an old married couple already—she could almost forget that Seth owned another house no more than a mile away and had lived there for years before she moved in next door. So why were they having such trouble setting a date and making plans? Because they were both busy people, she kept telling herself. But a niggling little voice kept saying, Even busy people get married. Instead of renting a hall and planning a menu, she was trying to solve a murder and remodel a teenager’s life. Prioritize, Meg!

  She worked steadily all day, then washed up before heading out around four thirty. She and Seth had agreed to meet at the high school parking lot on the other side of town, in time for their five-o’clock meeting. She pulled in just as the last of the students were leaving, and parked next to Seth’s van, where he was waiting.

  “Right on time,” he called out. “Wouldn’t want to make the teacher wait, now, would we?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” she replied. “I was never called to the teacher’s office after hours. Or the principal’s office. What’s the teacher’s name, again?”

  “Howard Dillenberger. He’s got to be past sixty now—when I took his class he seemed ancient, which must have meant over forty. He didn’t suffer fools gladly, and he always knew when you hadn’t read the assignment and nailed you.”

  “Sounds like fun. And you still came out liking history?”

  “I did. He made it much more real than any textbook I ever read. And, of course, we’re living in the midst of a lot of it here in Granford. Wonder if he’s heard about the body under the Historical Society.”

  As they were speaking, Seth had led Meg to the front door. The building was modern, and as a nod to security Seth had to push a buzzer and identify himself before anyone would let them in. Meg stifled a sigh: life had seemed so much more innocent when she was in high school. And yet, she reminded herself, they were here to investigate a crime where a student was a potential suspect in the fatal attack on another teenager. Maybe times had changed, or maybe she’d just been naïve when she was in high school.

  Seth led Meg to the main office, where he chatted with the staff and introduced her around—and where they had to sign the visitors’ book—then he confidently guided her through the maze of hallways to a classroom on the far side of the building. There, behind a standard desk, sat a man who reminded Meg of what she thought a modern-day Nero Wolfe would look like: he was large and rumpled, with scrambled hair and an anachronistic mustache. Also like Nero Wolfe, his eyes were sharp and intelligent. He stood up and smoothed down his tweed jacket.

  “Seth Chapin. How long has it been?” He held out his hand to shake Seth’s.

  “I’ve missed a reunion or two. Must be ten years since I’ve seen you. This is my fiancée, Meg Corey.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Dillenberger,” Meg said. “I’m glad we could get together on such short notice.”

  “I’m glad you came to me. Sit, both of you—get one of those wooden chairs from around the edge of the room. I won’t insist anyone over the age of eighteen sit in those molded monstrosities the school insists on using in classrooms.”

  Seth brought over two straight-backed wooden chairs and set them in front of the desk. They sat.

  “I’m happy to help out Jeffrey, and it’s a treat to meet the woman who appears to be keeping the Granford police busy,” Mr. Dillenberger said.

  “That wasn’t my intent, really,” Meg protested.

  “Of course not, my dear. But you have gone out of your way to involve yourself with young Jeffrey, haven’t you? You have no other connection to him?”

  “No, we only met last week. I haven’t lived long in Granford, so while my roots go way back, I still don’t know most people in town. But his family has asked us for our help, and Jeffrey looked like he could use it.”

  “So, what do you want from me?” the teacher said.

  “On the surface Jeffrey Green seems like a perfect kid,” Seth began. “Smart, hardworking, nice to his mother, a Boy Scout, and so on. But he doesn’t seem to have any friends. And now he’s somehow become a suspect in a fatal attack on a stranger—a stranger to him and to Granford, I might add. How do we get from A to B? I thought, since you’ve spent some time with him, that you may have seen something under the surface that others missed.”

  Mr. Dillenberger sat back in his chair—which creaked—and folded his hands over his belly. “For the most part, I’d say what you see in Jeffrey is what you get. He always comes to class prepared. He understands the material and makes some interesting connections. He even reads outside the syllabus, and that’s rare. I wish he’d laugh more, maybe make a joke now and then. But as his teacher I can’t complain.”

  “He’s an only child, and his parents are recently divorced—I gather it was hostile,” Meg said. “Does that have something to do with it?”

  “Maybe. Only children often are more comfortable with adults than with their peers. I’m not privy to his home situation, but I’ve met his mother on several occasions and found her . . . difficult. She’s complained to the school administration more than once that we don’t offer more AP classes. I could be charitable and say she wants only the best for her son, but she’s pushing him as hard as possible toward a big-name college.” He glanced quickly at the door to the corridor, but there were no people in the hall. “I sense she’s more concerned with her boasting rights than with finding a good fit for Jeffrey.”

  “Has he told you what he wants to study?” Meg asked.

  “Not in so many words. Were I to be asked for a letter of recommendation, and I probably will be at some point in the near future, I would say his interests lie in the humanities rather than the sciences. He has shown a real flair for history.”

  “Has he told you about the excavation on the green?” Meg asked.

  “Not personally, but of course the rumors flew. It was a skull he found, wasn’t it? Fascinating.”

  “It was, in pieces, and the rest of the body was recovered as well. Jeffrey volunteered to do some research to see if there was any way to identify the body. But that was before the . . . other situation.”

  “Is there anyone here that he’s particularly close to?” Seth asked. “In class or out?”

  “Among the boys in his class, I’d say there’s a group of perhaps five or six who share similar interests and aptitudes, and I often see them together in the cafeteria or on their way home. But I see them as traveling in a pack, perhaps for protective reasons. There does not seem to be any one in particular whom I would say is an actual frien
d.”

  “Is there anyone who’s shown antagonism toward Jeff?” Seth followed up.

  “Ah, Seth, surely you know there are always those who try to knock the smarter boys off their pedestals.” Mr. Dillenberger paused for a moment. “Before I say too much more, may I ask why you’re so involved in this? After all, the state police are handling this investigation, are they not?”

  “Yes, and I know they do a good job. But as Meg said, Jeffrey’s family asked us to help, and sometimes someone who isn’t connected to law enforcement can have better luck in simply talking with people. We’re not doing anything that would compromise the investigation, if you’re worried.”

  Mr. Dillenberger nodded. “Thank you, Seth. I do have to be careful. As I was going to say, the jocks aren’t always kind to the nerds. I could give you the boys’ names, if you like. We have our share of slackers, as we did in your day. Plus ça change and so on. But I can’t think of any person or group that has singled Jeffrey out. He’s a very self-possessed young man. If anyone has attempted to bully him, they’ve had little success.”

  “We’ve noticed,” Seth said. “Anything else, Meg?”

  “What about romantic relationships? Has he shown any romantic inclinations toward . . . anyone?” she asked. “Male or female?”

  Mr. Dillenberger smiled. “Such a politically correct phraseology, Meg! We do have a cadre of gay and lesbian students—it’s quite de rigueur these days. But I haven’t seen young Jeffrey in their company. I’d venture to say he leans in the more traditional direction, albeit cautiously.”

  “Mr. Dillenberger, are you trying to say that you have noticed Jeffrey showing interest in a girl?” Meg said, surprised.

  “That would be my educated guess, although I wouldn’t go so far as to say they’re dating, or whatever they call it these days,” Mr. Dillenberger said, then added, “I must admit I despise the term ‘hooking up’—it sounds so mechanical. I think in days past Jeffrey’s current situation might have been characterized as an early stage of courtship, although I would venture to say that Jeffrey’s aspirations are far higher than a brief fling.”

  “Does the girl in question appear to return his affections, or is he just worshipping from afar?” Seth asked.

  “My, quite the turn of phrase, Seth. I’d say the former. She’s a nice girl, kind of shy. She isn’t in my class, but I’ve seen her regularly, and he often seems to be in her vicinity.”

  “Do you know her name?”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t. I believe she’s a year or two younger. I’m sure I could find out, if you like.”

  “That might be helpful, as long as you don’t rock the boat. If there is a girl he’s interested in, I get the impression Jeffrey hasn’t shared even a hint of that with either of his parents.”

  “Understandable,” Mr. Dillenberger said. “I’m sure his mother would declare the young woman unsuitable, sight unseen. In her eyes Jeffrey is destined for better things, and she wouldn’t want him to be tied down to a hometown sweetheart. I don’t believe I know Jeffrey’s father.”

  “Sam Green,” Seth said quickly. “He came back to town as soon as he heard about Jeffrey’s problems—not from his ex-wife, I might add. He seems like a nice guy, which may explain why he and Karen aren’t together any longer.”

  “Seth Chapin, I do believe you dislike Karen.” Mr. Dillenberger said with mock horror.

  “I’m afraid so. She’s not helping Jeffrey at all.”

  “Which is why you and Meg have so kindly stepped in, I surmise. It’s admirable of you, but I hope it doesn’t complicate matters.”

  “What do you mean?” Meg asked.

  “Jeffrey’s loyalties may be somewhat conflicted at the moment, given his parents’ situation, and he’s facing all the hormonal torments of his age and gender. Add to that the stress of this being his senior year, and I would say he is in a rather vulnerable state. Perhaps it’s a good thing that he has the two of you on his side—certainly he needs someone, and the fact that you are not related to him is a plus. All I’m saying is, tread carefully.”

  “That’s what we’re trying to do, Mr. Dillenberger,” Meg said. “Can I ask you one more thing?” When the teacher nodded, she said, “I know the police verified Novaro Miller’s identity, and we know that he was not a student here. But did you ever find kids of his age—eighteen—just hanging around the school? In the parking lot or whatever? Outsiders?”

  “I can’t say that I’m aware of anything like that, although perhaps I wouldn’t be. However, my impression is that most students here try to get away from the school as quickly as possible—the parking lot usually empties out in under half an hour. In that case, any nonstudents would be rather obvious.”

  Seth stood up. “Thanks so much for speaking with us, Mr. Dillenberger, and so frankly. We won’t share what you’ve told us, but I think it helps us to understand the kid a little better. If you can think of anyone else we should speak to, please let me know. And if you can identify that girl, it might help.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. It has been a pleasure to see you again, Seth. You’ve turned out well, and of course I’ll claim a share of the credit.” Mr. Dillenberger grinned. “Meg, delightful to meet you.”

  They waited until they were back in the parking lot before speaking. “That was interesting,” Meg said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Mostly the hint of a possible girl. If Jeffrey does have a girlfriend, he’s been very secretive about it.”

  “Hey, that’s what teenage guys do, keep secrets. At least the shy ones like Jeffrey. Believe me, I speak from experience.”

  “Aww, how sweet. Did you yearn after someone unattainable?”

  “More than one. That’s how we learn. But I didn’t really connect with anyone until college. Besides, would you share anything sensitive with Karen?”

  Meg shuddered at the thought. “No. Poor Jeffrey. He’s having a hard time of things, isn’t he?”

  “For the moment. Let’s hope we can fix at least one part of this before too long.”

  21

  They picked up some sandwiches and drinks, and sat in the car to eat them, killing time until their eight-o’clock meeting with the Scoutmaster.

  “What’s his name, again?” Meg asked.

  “Frank Baker. He’s about my age, and I know him slightly from various town events. Married, a couple of kids, I think.”

  “If he’s your age, is he old enough to have a son in Scouts?”

  “Cub Scouts, maybe? If I recall, Frank was an Eagle Scout, and I think he wants to stay involved, but I’m not exactly plugged into that network.”

  Meg took a large bite and chewed, trying to picture Seth with a son in a Cub Scout uniform. Her son. Their son. Could she see herself in that picture? They’d agreed on the idea of having children sometime in the foreseeable future, but they hadn’t gotten down to specifics, and Meg felt woefully out of touch with details like day care options, the quality of the local school systems, or setting up a college fund for little Ms. or Master Chapin. Corey-Chapin? Chapin-Corey?

  “Meg, you’re awfully quiet. Problem?”

  “No, just thinking.”

  “Sorry I interrupted,” Seth said, attacking his sandwich again.

  “Don’t be. Is your nephew Matthew a Cub Scout?”

  “He is. It would be a different troop, of course, since they live in Amherst.”

  “Why do you say ‘of course’? I have no idea how these things work.”

  “Well, you’re going to be talking to someone who knows the answers shortly. Ask him.”

  “How is your sister Rachel, anyway? When’s the baby due again?”

  “I haven’t seen her lately. She’s due in, what, two months? Mom tells me she’s pretty large already.”

  “I can imagine.” Or maybe not—she’d been so career-
driven, as had most of her female colleagues at the bank in Boston, that Meg had little direct knowledge of the stages of pregnancy. How ridiculous it seemed that she’d been so focused on her job that she’d failed to learn the basics of human childbearing! “We should get together with them soon—before the baby comes. Thanksgiving may be too late.”

  “We should. If we can find breathing room.”

  Meg bundled up her sandwich wrappings before turning to face him. “Seth, we’re giving time to Jeffrey, who we barely know. Shouldn’t we save some for family?”

  Seth sat back in the seat and shut his eyes. “You’re right. Sometimes I don’t stop to think, and then things just happen, like this needy kid showing up.”

  Meg leaned against him. “It’s the right thing to do. But let’s not forget the family, okay?”

  “Fair enough.”

  Frank Baker lived in a part of Granford that Meg was unfamiliar with, a pleasant, modern subdivision of midsized homes that looked comfortably lived in without being shabby. Frank was expecting them and answered their knock quickly.

  “Hey, Seth. And this is Meg Corey? Good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Meg laughed and shook his extended hand. “I won’t ask for specifics.”

  “What can I do for you folks? Oh, come on in, don’t mind the chaos. My wife took the kids to the mall to buy more school clothes—she’d be horrified to find out I let you in to see this.” The living room was scattered with toys, both manual and electronic, and a few cast-off pieces of outerwear, but it looked normal enough to Meg.

  “Don’t apologize,” she said. “I’m in the middle of the apple harvest, and I haven’t seen some of my floors for weeks. Cleaning is on my calendar for December, I think.”

  “Well, see if you can find the furniture under this mess, and sit down,” Frank said. He moved aside a sweatshirt and some kind of video game, and waited while Meg and Seth sat.

  When they were all settled, Frank said, “You wanted to know something about Scouting, Seth? What’s your interest? We can always use volunteer Scoutmasters.”