“No, Frank, it’s more specific than that, but I wanted to talk with you face-to-face. It’s about Jeffrey Green.”
“Ah, I see. What do you want to know? Or maybe I should ask first, why are you asking?”
“Have the police talked to you?” Seth asked.
“The police? Why would they talk to me?” Frank looked bewildered.
“Well, I guess we’re doing what they’re not—trying to get a handle on what kind of kid Jeffrey is.”
“You mean, could he have hurt someone? Awful thing, that,” Frank said. “I didn’t know the victim—a seasonal worker, I heard?”
“Is it possible that Jeffrey could have known the kid who died?” Seth asked. “He swears he didn’t.”
“If he swears he didn’t know the boy, then I’d believe him. Jeffrey has never lied in the time I’ve known him. So my opinion, for what it’s worth, is that the other boy must’ve been a stranger to him. But you still haven’t said why you’re here.”
“To put it simply, we’re trying to find out what really happened, for Jeffrey’s sake,” Seth said. “We don’t believe Jeffrey attacked the boy, but since we don’t know him well, we’ve been talking to people who do, like one of his teachers. We’ve found his mother, uh, less than completely supportive, but his father’s back in town and seems to be stepping up.”
Frank smiled ruefully. “I’ve had my run-ins with his mom. She wants him to make Eagle Scout before he ages out. I tried to explain this wasn’t a race or an achievement test, but I don’t think she heard me. From what I’ve seen, Jeffrey’s a good kid—conscientious, thorough, smart, hardworking. Everything we like to see in a Scout. I think he joined originally because he did like the idea of belonging to something. But lately I wondered if he’s pushing so hard just to keep mom happy.”
“I agree,” Meg said, “although he did seem excited about the history side of things. I don’t think he’s just going through the motions, or at least, not all the time.”
“Good—we’re on the same page. I didn’t tell his mother, but the truth is, there’s no way Jeffrey is going to make Eagle Scout. There are too many requirements he hasn’t met, and he doesn’t have time to complete them all. He knows that, although I don’t know if he’s told his mother. Not that I’m complaining. I mean, Jeffrey’s a great Scout, but he’s not a real group person, if you know what I mean.”
“I think we do,” Meg said. “He seems like kind of a loner. Does he have any particular friends in the troop?”
“Not really. Now and then he’ll give one of the others a ride to a meeting or event, but it’s not always the same one.”
“Did you ever hear anything about a girlfriend?”
Frank shrugged. “It never came up. We don’t talk about that kind of thing at our meetings, apart from trying to impart some basics—like ‘no’ means ‘no.’ But beyond what we’ve discussed at that level, I don’t know what else I can tell you about Jeffrey. If he should need a character reference, I’ll be happy to give him one.”
Seth stood up, and Meg followed suit. “Thanks for your time, Frank. I appreciate your comments, and they pretty much match what we’ve heard from everyone else. That’s what makes this whole thing so frustrating. There are no good suspects, and next to no evidence pointing at anyone. Look, if you think of anything else, or overhear anything from one of the other Scouts, can you let us know?”
“Sure will. And I admire you both for getting involved and trying to help—a lot of people wouldn’t.”
Meg glanced at Seth. “Maybe Seth is doing this just because he’s a good person, but for me—well, I’ve been in Jeffrey’s position, kind of, so I know how it feels. So I’m paying it back with Jeffrey.”
“Well, I can appreciate that. I’m glad to have met you, Meg, and it was nice seeing you again, Seth.”
As they made their way back to their car and he started the engine, Seth said, “You know, this is almost like some bit of theater of the absurd. Someone killed Novaro—that’s the one solid fact we’ve got. Nobody can believe Jeffrey would harm anyone, but it was Jeffrey who found the body. Unless Art has come up with something new, I think we’re at a dead end here. We like Jeffrey, and we don’t think he attacked anybody, but he’s already got a crowd of character witnesses, so that’s no help. You ready to go home?”
“I guess so.” Meg couldn’t think of anything else to do, or anyone else to talk to, and it was getting late.
“Bree home for dinner tonight?” Seth asked.
“Nope. Actually, she said she thought she might get together with Michael,” Meg replied, adding, “They haven’t seen much of each other lately.”
Seth said, with a hint of dismay, “Please don’t try to fix Bree and Michael.”
“I wasn’t planning to!” Meg protested. “I respect Bree, and she needs to make her own decisions. Sometimes I maybe even lean back too far because I’m afraid of ticking her off, and I need her. I ask her what to do next, she tells me, and I do it. With the crew, they know what to do, and she keeps an eye on them to be sure they do it, which they do. If I had to manage them, I’d be completely lost.”
“I hope Bree stays around for a long time—you two make a good team. And you’ll learn,” Seth said. “You’re a smart woman.”
“I’m not so sure that’s enough. Bree’s got a lot of relevant education that I’ll never have, plus I think that a lot of running an orchard comes down to experience and luck and maybe a touch of the mystical thrown in. I’ve been thinking about putting up a discreet shrine to Pomona somewhere on the property. I figure it can’t hurt.”
Seth pulled into their driveway a few minutes later, parked, then led the way inside and closed the door behind them. As Max loped up to greet them, Meg picked up a note Bree had left her on the kitchen table.
“I’ll take Max out—he’s been cooped up for a while,” Seth said.
“Okay,” Meg said absently, scanning the note. Bree informed her that there was a ninety-percent chance of precipitation the following day, so she thought they could take a break from picking. She’d already told Raynard, who would tell the others, and she was planning on staying at Michael’s for the night. She’d also added that Seth’s mother, Lydia, had called but hadn’t left a message.
While Seth was out with Max, Meg called Lydia. “Hi, Lydia—were you looking for Seth or me?” Meg asked.
“You, actually. I’m planning to kidnap Rachel tomorrow and take her to lunch, and I wondered if you’d like to come along.”
“Perfect timing! Bree informs me we aren’t going to be picking tomorrow, so that works out just fine. When and where?”
“I’m going to pick up Rachel at her place, so want to ride over with me?”
“Great. How’s she doing?”
“She keeps telling me she had forgotten all the details about being pregnant, and she feels big as a house. All perfectly normal. Should I pick you up at eleven?”
“It’s a date. I’ll be glad to see both of you.”
Seth came back as she was hanging up. “Speak of the devil,” Meg said. “Your mother just asked if I wanted to have lunch with her and Rachel tomorrow. Since Bree says she doesn’t need me, I said yes. Don’t feel left out—it’s a ladies’ lunch, and we’re going to listen to Rachel complain about all her pregnancy symptoms. I don’t think you’d enjoy it much.”
“I agree. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy. Nothing from Sam or Jeff?”
“Nope. And Bree says she’s staying at Michael’s. The place is all ours.”
22
After Seth headed out into the pouring rain on Thursday morning, Meg found herself at loose ends: she was so used to being busy, she didn’t know what to do with spare time. She read the paper slowly, savoring a second cup of coffee while it was still hot. She cleaned up the kitchen, wiping down counters and cabinets whose greasy state was glaringly obvious by
day. She ran a couple of loads of laundry, then showered and washed her hair. Which still left her time to kill before Lydia was due to pick her up.
Too little time to delve into her family history—every time Meg got started on that, she’d look up to find that several hours had passed. She was saving that for the long winter days when the harvest was over. Not enough time to shop for sorely needed food supplies—she’d do that after she returned from lunch. She could pull up her orchard spreadsheets and enter details of the most recent apples picked, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the totals at the moment, especially since there was nothing she could do about it. The crop was what it was, and as long as the pickers handled the apples with their usual care, the fruit would all get harvested and then hauled off to the local markets she’d contracted with. In the end, Meg leafed through the magazines that had been accumulating for several weeks, finding little that held her interest, and then tossed them into the recycling bin.
She was ready and waiting when Lydia arrived at eleven. Meg liked Lydia, and was comfortable with the idea of her as a mother-in-law. Lydia had had her own problems with her marriage to Seth’s father, about which both Lydia and Seth had shared a few details, but she wasn’t offering Meg advice, thank goodness. Lydia and Seth got along well, as did she and Rachel—although, absurdly, Lydia saw more of her daughter Rachel, who lived twenty minutes away in Amherst, than she did of her son, who lived in eyeshot of her house.
Meg watched Lydia pull up close to the back door, her windshield wipers laboring. Meg patted Lolly, grabbed an umbrella, and dashed out to the car. Lydia opened the door for her just as she reached it.
“You’re looking fit,” Lydia commented, turning the car around and taking the road back toward town.
“That’s because I get plenty of exercise. Lifting, reaching, and stretching.”
“How’s the crop?”
“About average, or so Bree tells me—down a bit from last year. Thanks for asking—I’m sure you’re fascinated.” Meg grinned, running her fingers through her hair to shake out the water droplets. “You know, I’d almost forgotten what rain looked like, but it’s a great excuse to play hooky. I know that it’s possible to pick in the rain, but I think everyone can use the break right now since there’s no variety that absolutely has to be picked today.”
“Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re free today. How’s that son of mine doing?”
“Fine, busy. But it’s good that he’s got plenty of business, and we’re both looking forward to when things will slow down in a couple of months.” Meg sneaked a glance at Lydia. “It’s all right, you can ask. I know you want to.”
“Why, whatever do you mean?” Lydia said, but then couldn’t contain a laugh. “No date yet?”
“Nope. For one thing, we haven’t had time to think, much less sit down together and draw up detailed plans. For another, I’ve never been one of those women who goes all gaga over brides’ magazines and agonizes over off-white versus ecru, or whether black is the new white.”
“Do you know, I have never figured out what ecru is? Anyway, make up your own minds in your own time. I’ll still be around—I hope.”
They chatted happily about nothing important during the time it took to reach Rachel’s bed and breakfast. She was waiting, seated in one of the ample wicker rockers on her Victorian front porch, and struggled out of it before they could help her.
“Don’t worry,” Rachel called out as Meg got out of the car, “I need the exercise. I feel like a whale.”
Meg moved to the backseat so Rachel could sit in front. “Is that my cue to say you’re glowing?”
“You mean I’m completely red in the face?” Rachel said as she sat down and struggled to wrap the seat belt around her middle. “You may now proceed, Mother dearest.”
The drive to the restaurant took only a few minutes. Lydia dropped Rachel and Meg off in front, with Meg helping to haul Rachel out of the seat, then went to find parking.
“How’s it going?” Meg asked, while they waited.
“I told Mom, there’s a lot I had forgotten about the process. The brain is a wonderful thing—it erases a lot of the yucky stuff so that we can keep spawning new babies. You’ll find out.” Rachel glanced at her, a worried expression on her face. “Won’t you?”
“Don’t worry—you’re not scaring me. Yes, probably, although the date for that is about as vague as the date for the wedding.”
Lydia returned quickly, and she had had the foresight to reserve a deep, padded booth for them at the restaurant so that Rachel would be comfortable. Once they ordered, Rachel sat back and said, “Mom, I am tired of talking about my blood pressure and swollen ankles, so instead I figured we could talk about what happened in Granford instead. Some poor kid got his head bashed in?” Rachel turned to Meg.
Meg outlined what she knew, and reported how she and Seth had gotten themselves involved, though with little result so far. That carried them through soup and sandwiches.
“So, bottom line,” Rachel said, “this young Jamaican guy is dead and the squeaky-clean Boy Scout is the only suspect, but there is zero proof that he had anything to do with it. And the police are officially stymied.”
“That’s it, in a nutshell.”
Rachel grinned at her. “But you and Seth are on the job. Does that about cover it?”
“Sad to say, it does,” Meg said. “And it’s been nearly a week now and the trail is as cold as it gets. Nobody we’ve talked to believes that Jeffrey had anything to do with this. If Jeffrey didn’t do it, it has to be either random, which is an unsettling thought, or someone that Novaro met in the short time he was in the area. I guess there’s a chance that a person or a gang came into town and did this, but there’s no evidence of that, either.”
“But of course the police are looking into that, right?” Rachel said.
“As far as we know—they haven’t told us, no surprise. Nobody else seems to know who Novaro was hanging out with, after he quit his job. He just dropped off the radar, according to the other pickers, including his uncle.”
“Well,” Lydia said, “I admire you and Seth for trying to help.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, Lydia. It helps. You two have fresh eyes or ears or whatever—anything we’ve missed?”
Their waitress had appeared and Rachel said quickly, “I want the cheesecake, please.” The waitress took the rest of their orders and trotted back to the kitchen. “How about the theory of a damsel in distress?” Rachel said, once the waitress was gone.
“That’s an interesting idea,” Meg said. “As far as we know—and we’ve asked—Jeffrey isn’t officially dating anyone, although there are some rumors that there’s a girl in the picture. I gather his mother would pitch a fit if he got involved with a townie.”
“He’s a townie, isn’t he?” Rachel countered.
“Yes, but his mother has big plans for him and thinks that an ‘inappropriate relationship’”—Meg made air quotes—“would interfere with those plans,” she replied.
“His mother sounds like a real sweetheart. Have you asked Jeffrey?” Rachel said.
“No, not directly. Do you think he’d tell us?”
“Maybe, under the right conditions. Or you could simply observe his body language. If he turns bright red when you ask, that’s a definite maybe. He might try to sneak around the answer, so you have to watch how you phrase your question.”
“What do you mean?” Meg asked.
“You can’t say, Are you seeing anyone? because that’s too vague. If they’ve never actually gone on a date, he might try to get away with a no. So instead you say, Is there any girl you’re interested in taking out or have already taken out, with or without the knowledge of your harpy mother?”
Lydia broke out laughing. “Rachel, listen to yourself. Have you been wallowing in old fiction?”
“Sure have. Mostly romance—my hormones have run amok. I keep plenty of books on hand for guests, and I’ve been refreshing my memory. Between that and watching reruns of Law & Order and stuff like that on television, there’s not much else I can do at the moment.”
Rachel thought for a moment, then said, “Seriously, the way you’ve described him, Jeffrey sounds like a sweet, innocent, shy boy—just the kind who is most likely to fantasize about saving the life or the honor or in some way coming to the rescue of the object of his affections, even if she doesn’t know he’s alive. God, I’m glad I’m not a teenager anymore,” Rachel said. “Anyway, you should talk to Seth about it—he’s a guy, right?”
“Uh, yeah?” Meg said. “And he did mention that he pined for one or two girls in his high school days without ever doing much about it.”
“He was a late bloomer,” Lydia said.
“He’s a snail,” Rachel countered. “I’m amazed he managed to ask Nancy to marry him. Oh, sorry, Meg—does it bother you if we talk about Nancy? You met her, right?”
“I did, and go right ahead. It’s past history, right?”
“It is. Although, come to think of it, maybe Nancy proposed to Seth—she thought he was going to go on to bigger things. She wasn’t planning on being a plumber’s wife. Are you okay with that, Meg?”
“Hey, I’m a farmer, so who am I to throw stones? Seth loves what he’s doing now—the whole restoration thing. He’s really into the hands-on part, making things work or bringing them back to life. Sometimes I get jealous of the wood, the way he caresses it.”
“Oooh,” Rachel said, laughing. “Do tell. Actually, I think Noah feels the same way about the furniture he makes. But he comes home to me.”
By the time they finished dessert, Rachel announced, “I’d better get back—the kids’ll be back from school soon, and it’s time for my nap.”
“I’m glad we could do this, Rachel,” Meg said. “Seth and I were just talking about how we need to spend more time with family. I mean, seeing you two should come before spending time checking up on a kid we barely know.”
Picked to Die (An Orchard Mystery) Page 20