“They’ll turn up. And I wouldn’t worry about losing your marbles just yet. We all forget things. I know I do.”
Her mother gave her a sidelong glance. “You mean, little details like the fact that you’re dating someone?”
Meg felt a curious mix of shame and defensiveness. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about him.”
“Darling, this is your life. I haven’t told you what to do since you were about ten. What’s the problem? Telling me, or admitting that you care about him?”
“A little of each, I guess. I mean, when I first got here, Chandler had just broken things off, and I felt kind of raw about it. I figured I’d throw myself into fixing this place up, as a distraction. And then a lot more stuff started happening—like finding out about the orchard, and trying to make it work. And Seth was kind of wrapped up in all that, but I wasn’t sure if he was just trying to be helpful, which he does a lot, or because of me in particular. I’m still having trouble sorting that out.”
They were interrupted by a knock on the kitchen door: Art, followed by Seth. “Morning, Meg, Mrs. Corey,” Art said. “Seth tells me you had a little problem last night?”
“Hi, Art,” Meg greeted him. “Want some coffee? And I’m still not sure anything actually happened here.”
“Coffee’s good. And don’t worry, this is off-the-record for the moment. I’m on my way to the station, but I just wanted to check in.”
Meg’s mother stood up. “I’ll get the coffee. And it’s Elizabeth, please.”
“I didn’t want Max branded as a criminal,” Seth joked. “You didn’t notice anything else unusual around the house, Meg?” he asked more seriously.
“Sit down, both of you. No, nothing missing, nothing disturbed, unless you count Mother’s genealogy notes, which she can’t find. Who on earth would want those? Half the people around here probably know a lot more than we do about local kinship in Granford. She probably just put them down somewhere and forgot where,” Meg said. Elizabeth made a face at her daughter.
“Just walk me through what happened last night, Meg.” Art accepted the mug of coffee that Elizabeth held out to him.
“There’s not much to tell,” Meg said, and gave him the scant details from the night before. “So, as I was just telling my mother, I’m not convinced that Max didn’t do it himself.”
“No scratches on the door,” Seth noted. “Are you saying that Max got the door open on the first try?”
“I guess I’d rather not think that there’s been someone prowling around here and breaking in for no apparent reason then leaving without taking anything. Art, have there been any other incidents like that?”
“Nope. Pretty quiet, even with the tourists coming up for all the leaves, not to mention the apples. I just wanted to make sure.”
“Art,” Meg said slowly, “did you hear that Daniel Weston’s house was broken into the night before last?”
“In Amherst? No, I didn’t. Hmm. That puts things in a different light. You’re connected to both of the break-ins, one way or another. Or your mother is. All the more reason to be careful. You do keep your doors locked, right?”
“Of course I do. And the locks are new since I moved in.”
“Anybody else have keys?”
“I have one. Bree has one. I gave Mother one. And Seth, of course—he’s got keys to all the buildings here. That’s all that I know about.”
“Is there a spare?”
“Sure, somewhere. You want me to dig it up?” Meg paused, vaguely disturbed. “Art, why are you making such a big deal of this? Nothing’s missing, nothing’s damaged. Maybe I was sloppy and forgot to put the dead bolt on last night when we left.” Maybe Seth’s unexpected arrival had flustered her, Meg thought. “Look, I do appreciate your concern, but I think this is probably an innocent mistake.”
Art smiled. “If it was anybody but you, Meg, I’d probably agree, but you do seem to attract problems. Well, I’ve got to get to work. Thanks for the coffee, Elizabeth. You enjoying your stay?”
“I am. And I’m beginning to like Granford.”
“Always good to hear that. I’ll be on my way. then.”
Art left in a flurry of good-byes. Seth stood hesitating by the door.
“What, you, too?” Meg asked. “I mean, it’s nice of you all to worry about me, but can’t you save it for something more important?”
“If you’re sure it’s nothing. Just make sure you lock your doors if you go anywhere. See you later.” Seth, too, headed out the door toward his office across the driveway.
When Meg returned to the table, Elizabeth said dryly, “I see what you mean about everybody here knowing everybody’s business. But it is nice of them to care, don’t you think?”
“I guess.” Meg took a deep breath. “Okay, Mother—I’ve come clean about Seth and me. Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on with you and Daddy?”
Elizabeth regarded her levelly. “I had to worm it out of you, dear. And as I told you before, nothing is going on with Phillip. We’re fine, Meg. Maybe it seems odd to you that he’s been out of touch for so long at this particular time, but if you find yourself in a long-term relationship—and I hope you will one day—you’ll discover that you both benefit from a little time on your own. Marriage doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re permanently joined at the hip and have to do everything together. Phillip had planned this trip some time ago.”
“But, Mother, shouldn’t Daddy be back by now?”
“Any day now, I expect. Darling, please don’t worry about us. We understand each other. “
There was no point in belaboring the issue, and Elizabeth had already been more honest with her than at any time Meg could remember. “I’m glad. I’ll try to stop back here for lunch. Do you have any plans?”
“More genealogy, I suppose. That’s more than enough to keep me busy.”
“Keep your eyes open, will you? Just in case Art’s right and the two break-ins are connected somehow. Please don’t take any chances.”
“Of course. I’ll be fine, Meg. You go get some work done.”
Meg found Bree at the top of the hill, already engaged in a heated discussion with a couple of pickers, whose body language clearly said they disagreed with her. “I don’t care if that’s the way you’ve always done it!” Bree said, her voice barely below a shout. “I’ve tested the sugar three ways, and I say the Cortlands are ready to pick now. The sooner you get started, the sooner you’ll be done with them.”
Meg hung back until the men had turned away and picked up their bags. “Problems?”
Bree shook her head. “They think they know more than I do. Maybe that’s true for some things, but I’ve been as careful as I know how in choosing what comes next, and they’ve got to follow my orders. Right?”
“I’m relying on you, Bree. Just try not to piss them off too much, will you? We can’t afford to lose any hands at this point.”
Bree bristled. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Of course you do. Listen, there’s something I should tell you. Last night Seth stopped by to pick us up and left his dog Max in the kitchen.”
“Whoa, Seth has a dog? When did that happen?”
“Recently. But the point is, when we came back from dinner, the back door was open and Max was running around outside. You didn’t by any chance stop by and forget to lock the door?”
“No way. I left before you, remember? And I spent the night in Amherst. You think it was a break-in?”
“Maybe, but nothing was taken, as far as I can see. We told Art, just in case. He didn’t seem too worried until I mentioned the break-in at Daniel’s house.”
“Weird.” Bree stated the obvious. “Well, let’s get going. I’d like to get this section done before noon.”
Meg hoisted her apple bag and hooked the straps over her shoulders, then headed for the nearest tree.
Bree followed. “You know, if you assume the two break-ins are connected, and nothing was taken, it kind o
f sounds like somebody was looking for something.”
“But what?”
“I dunno. But it’s got to be related to the dead guy, whatever it is.”
“But why look at my place? I never met the man, and as far as I know, he’d never been in my house.”
“Maybe he gave something to your mom, and she brought it back?”
“I think she would have mentioned it by now.” Unless it was something intensely personal—but why would a thief know about it, in that case? Or what if it was a piece of jewelry, and Patricia thought she had some claim to it? She could have faked the break-in at her own house, just to hide her tracks. “I’ll ask Mother at lunch. That is, if you’ll let me take time for lunch?”
“Start picking. We’ve got a long way to go.” Bree marched off to check on the other pickers.
As she began to fill her bag, Meg mulled things over. If the two events were related, then as Bree had pointed out, it had to be somebody looking for something connected to Daniel Weston. But why would anyone have searched at her house?
Meg unloaded her bag into the crate a few rows over and returned to her tree. Daniel had been a scholar, and had planned to unveil his discovery at an academic event—one with high visibility. His specialty was Emily Dickinson. Therefore, his discovery was most likely something related to Emily Dickinson.
Dickinson’s Farm Stand. Was it coincidence that everything kept coming back to Dickinsons and Emily? Maybe. There were plenty of Dickinsons around the area, past and present. Rachel’s husband was a Dickinson. Meg had seen any number of Dickinsons when she had looked at Granford census records. Maybe they were related, maybe not, but the more she dug, the more she found that everybody was related to everybody else in the area.
But what would have brought Daniel to the farm stand? He could have met the person at his home, or at a neutral public place in Amherst. Was he, or the person he was meeting, looking for a quiet place where no one would see them? Why would Daniel have gone along with it, if someone else had asked him? Obviously he should have said no. Or had he chosen the spot himself for some reason?
Meg continued picking on autopilot, her mind churning. She felt obscurely relieved: as Elizabeth had told Detective Marcus, it was highly unlikely that her mother would have known about Dickinson’s Farm Stand, and Daniel would have had no reason to take her there. According to Elizabeth, they’d already parted ways by then. The hotel could probably confirm when she had returned—didn’t they all have keycard access these days? When had Daniel set up this mystery rendezvous? Were there phone records? Cell phone, home phone, office phone? Or face-to-face?
Meg had made an effort to avoid thinking about her mother and Daniel. There was no way she could see her mother as someone’s . . . what? Paramour? Lover? Mistress? None of the terms fit, no matter what the relationship. Meg really wanted to believe it was all as innocent as Elizabeth had said. Daniel had heard that Meg lived in the area, and had contacted his old grad school buddies to see if Meg was their daughter. When he’d reached Elizabeth rather than Phillip, he’d issued a casual invitation to come visit, and she, at loose ends with her husband out of town, had said, why not? And that was that. All open and aboveboard, just as Elizabeth had said. They’d had a nice visit, but found they had little in common anymore, and had gone their own ways. Maybe Elizabeth had had different expectations, but nothing had come of them.
But no matter what, Daniel was dead, and the police said he had been murdered. That was one fact that wouldn’t go away. And the police weren’t likely to let it. A respected professor, killed in a charming college town during new student week? A town that depended on parents sending their little darlings to school there, assuming they’d be safe? No, Detective Marcus was going to keep after this until he came to some resolution, and unfortunately Elizabeth was still in his sights.
Twist, drop, unload; repeat. Meg filled the next couple of hours with picking, until her back hurt and her hands were sore. The sun rose higher in the sky. When Bree passed by, making her supervisory rounds, Meg asked, “Can I stop for lunch, boss? Please?”
Bree surveyed Meg’s row of trees. “Looks pretty good. But don’t make it a long one—we’ve got to take advantage of this good weather while we can.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Meg slipped out of her apple bag and straightened up with a sigh of relief. “I’ll be back at one.” She crossed the orchard and started down the hill toward the house, then realized there was a car in the driveway—one she recognized. Her father’s.
21
It was all Meg could do to stop herself from running down the hill to the house. How long had it been since she’d seen her father? A year? And maybe now she’d finally get some answers about those “good old days” in Cambridge, when her parents had hung out with the late Daniel Weston.
She paused when she reached the back door: she could see her parents in the kitchen, locked in a close embrace. Elizabeth’s head was on Phillip’s chest, and he was holding her tight, his chin resting on her head. There was a tenderness in their stance that brought a lump to Meg’s throat. Did she really question their feelings for each other? There was certainly no distance between them now, literal or figurative.
Phillip finally looked up and saw Meg hesitating at the door, then released Elizabeth and opened his arms to Meg. “Meggy, my love, you’re looking—”
“Like something the cat dragged in, I know. It’s so good to see you!” She let herself be enfolded in the warmth of her father’s embrace. He smelled of all things familiar, but with an overlay of sea and salt and distant places, as if his recent fishing trip had somehow seeped into his pores. Finally she pulled away. “And where the hell have you been?”
“I was just about to explain. I got home after midnight last night, and when I heard the messages on the phone, I hopped in the car this morning and drove straight up. Can you give a poor man something to eat and drink?”
“I made lunch,” Elizabeth said. “Phillip, what would you like to drink?”
“Coffee, if you have it. If I understand several of those phone messages correctly, the local constabulary wants a word with me, so I’d better keep my wits about me.”
As Elizabeth moved around the kitchen, Meg studied her father across the table. His skin had a ruddy glow, his nose was peeling, and strands of his graying fair hair were bleached by the sun—obviously he’d been spending time outside.
Elizabeth laid plates on the table, and then a platter of sandwiches. Phillip inhaled a large chunk of sandwich and half his mug of coffee before speaking. “It was that damn boat of Harold’s. You remember Harold, don’t you, Meg?”
“No.”
Seeing her blank look, Phillip went on, “The boat was amazing—really top-of-the-line, what’s called a motor yacht. Anyway, Harold said he wanted to move it from New Jersey to his winter place in Florida, and he asked me and a couple other buddies to come along for the ride. You know, one of those trips where we drank a lot, and tossed a line in the water now and then to pretend we were fishing. Real man stuff.” Phillip’s eyes twinkled. “Besides, we weren’t exactly roughing it—the boat had three staterooms, DVD players in each room, and even a washer-dryer. Do you know, Elizabeth, I think it was nicer than our first apartment? Problem was, Harold’s a little sloppy about his maintenance schedule, so the motor died on us about halfway there, and of course, he had no idea how to fix it. Luckily we drifted to a nice peaceful island and dropped anchor, but it was days before anybody noticed us—although I’ll admit we didn’t try very hard to capture anyone’s attention, at least for the first day or two. We figured hey, we were on vacation, so none of us worried too much. And at least Harold had done a bang-up job stocking up on provisions.”
“And no phone connections? You didn’t have a radio?”
“Well, we could have radioed if there was an emergency, but we weren’t in any hurry. Of course, none of us was expecting any frantic phone calls from the police or our wives. Not that Harold has one at the mo
ment.” He reached across to Elizabeth and laid a hand over hers. “I would have been here if I’d known—you know that. And I’m sorry I didn’t get to see Daniel.”
“I know,” Elizabeth said. “It was you he asked for when he called.” They shared a moment of silent communion, and Meg suddenly felt left out.
“Daddy, can you stay for a few days?” she broke in.
“Did you really think I’d turn around and leave so fast? I want to see what you’ve done with this place. And we have to sort out this mess with Daniel’s death. Is there room for me to stay here? We could always go to a hotel.”
“Of course you’re welcome here, if you don’t mind the simple life. And Mother can tell you that I may not have much time to spend with you, since we’re right in the thick of the harvest.”
“You’re working in the orchard yourself?” Her father sounded mildly incredulous.
“I am. My orchard manager, Bree, broke her wrist last week, and that left us shorthanded. I’m picking and making deliveries, since she can’t do any heavy lifting for a while. By the way, Bree lives here, too, and there’s only one bathroom. You might want to reconsider that hotel.”
Phillip smiled. “Darling, I’m here to see you and your mother, not the inside of some anonymous hotel. But if it’s inconvenient for you, just say so and we’ll get out of your way.”
“I’d be happy if you stayed here.” Meg realized she meant it—this was her home, and she wanted her family to be part of it.
“Then that’s settled!” Phillip clapped his hands together as if to close the subject. “Now, we should go talk to that detective person who’s been leaving me messages for days. Right, Elizabeth?”
“Of course—we want to stay on his good side. And I know a lovely restaurant where we can have dinner tonight.” Elizabeth winked at Meg.
“Yo, Meg! You coming back?” Bree called out from outside the kitchen door. She walked into the kitchen, then stopped abruptly when she saw Phillip. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to barge in.”
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