Sour Apples

by Sheila Connolly

  22

  Seth and Lydia left soon after in their separate cars. Meg debated deferring calling Lauren until the next day but decided that waiting would be the coward’s way out. Meg hit Lauren’s number on her cell phone.

  Lauren answered quickly. “What do you want, Meg?” she said abruptly. “You know I’m busy.” Her tone was anything but friendly.

  Not the time to ask if her boss was a crook and/or a murderer. “Lauren, I feel bad about the way we left things. Can we get together and clear the air before you leave the area?”

  “Meg, I’m out flat here. Rick’s getting ready to announce his campaign on Patriots’ Day, and that’s only a month away and I’ve got a million things to do. We can talk once that’s done.”

  Meg vaguely remembered Patriots’ Day as a major event in Boston, but one that left outsiders scratching their heads. Whatever the timeline, Meg wasn’t going to give up. “Lauren, please? I’ll meet you wherever you like, but I value our friendship”—even though I’m about to blow it to smithereens—“and I really want to make this right between us.”

  “Let me check my calendar…Okay, Rick’s got a breakfast meeting in Northampton tomorrow morning, and once I deliver him there I’ve got half an hour open. That’s the best I can do.”

  “Fine. Where?”

  “That big hotel in the middle of town. I’ll meet you in the lobby, say, eight o’clock?”

  “Thank you, Lauren. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The call left Meg feeling both proud and depressed: proud that she’d done what she knew she had to do, and depressed because it would probably mean a rift in her friendship with Lauren. But maybe Lauren would thank her someday, if it turned out that what Meg feared was true. Lauren shouldn’t let her enthusiasm for her candidate land her in the middle of a criminal investigation.

  The next morning Meg woke up early and lay in bed in the half-light, turning over how to tell Lauren what she suspected and, worse, how to ask her to rat out her beloved boss. “Lauren, I think your employer is a criminal”? “Lauren, how much do you know about Rick Sainsbury’s background?” “Covered up any murders lately?” Meg was not looking forward to this.

  She arrived at the Hotel Northampton early and spent a couple of moments admiring the elegant if slightly shabby lobby. She spied Candidate Rick in full press-the-flesh mode with a couple of men in suits; Lauren hovered on the fringes of the group, tablet computer in hand. Rick didn’t see Meg, but as soon as the group went into the hotel’s sunny breakfast room, Lauren peeled off and came over. “I’ve got forty-five minutes, tops. Let’s get out of here before he remembers something else he wants me to do.”

  “There’s a coffee shop around the corner.”

  “Lead the way.”

  Five minutes later they were settled with coffee. Meg started out with a safe question. “Why is Rick in Northampton? I thought that was cut out of the congressional district in the recent redistricting.”

  “You have been paying attention. You’re right, but Rick’s trying to keep the lines of communication open with this district. It’s kind of a courtesy call.” She looked sharply at Meg. “Okay, what’s going on? Why are you here? I’m sure you don’t want to discuss redistricting.”

  “You’re right. Lauren, there’s something I have to talk to you about, and it’s serious.”

  “I wondered—I didn’t think we had any issues between us, except that your pal Seth dislikes Rick and won’t explain why. But I respect you enough to agree to show up this morning. So talk.”

  Here goes. “Lauren, there was a murder recently in Granford, and I think Rick is involved.”

  Lauren jumped to her feet. “Jesus, Meg! I know you aren’t wild about the guy, but this is going too far. That’s ludicrous. And slanderous. You can’t just accuse someone of a crime, especially someone in the public eye. He’d sue you in an instant.”

  “Lauren, sit down,” Meg said sharply. “This isn’t a vendetta. You need to hear me out. I’ll make it quick, and then you can make up your own mind. Please, stay that long.”

  When Lauren sat reluctantly, Meg laid out what she knew or guessed—how Joyce Truesdell had suspected her land was contaminated, leading to the theory that the cleanup had been mishandled by the company that Rick now headed; how that would reflect badly on Rick; and that Joyce might have been killed to keep her quiet.

  Lauren listened, her face stony. When Meg was finished, she said, “So you’ve strung together a series of guesses and decided that a dead dairy farmer leads straight back to Rick? Ridiculous. I think you have another agenda.”

  “What?” Meg sputtered. “What on earth would that be?”

  “You’re jealous. You see that I’ve got an interesting and challenging job, with a bright future when Rick wins, and you’re stuck digging in the mud in that backwater little town of yours. You can’t stand that I’m doing better than you, so now you’re trying to undermine me by attacking Rick.”

  If Lauren really believed that, then their friendship was probably doomed no matter what Meg said. “Lauren, that’s absurd. Can’t you see that I’m trying to help you here? I don’t stand to gain a damned thing. But someone is dead, and there have been three break-ins this week, probably looking for documents related to that polluted site. Tell me I’m wrong. Find out where Rick was a week ago Saturday night, at the time that Joyce died.” When Lauren started to protest, Meg interrupted. “Yes, we all saw him at the Spring Fling in Granford, but that was hours after Joyce died. Or even if Rick is in the clear, you would know who he might ask to ‘take care of’ something. That’s all I want. You have access to his calendar, and you must have background information on Rick. Just look, and keep your eyes open, and if I’m wrong, I’ll be happy to shut up. I’m trying to protect you, Lauren. If I’m right, a lot of people may go down, and I don’t want you to be one of them.”

  Lauren didn’t answer. Instead, she rummaged in her bag, threw a couple of bills on the table, stood up, and stalked out of the coffee shop.

  That went badly, Meg thought as she sipped her now-cool coffee. She realized she hadn’t cautioned Lauren not to tell Rick about what she had said. Would Lauren have agreed? Would she take any part of this seriously? Or would she treat it as a joke—and tell anyone who would listen that her friend Meg had gone off the deep end? Damn. Lauren wasn’t wrong about the fact that her suspicion had originated in a series of guesses. She needed something resembling proof. Had Seth talked with Detective Marcus yet? Meg was sitting just a few hundred feet from his office—should she drop by? Did Marcus know that Lauren was working for the campaign? Would the fact that the two of them had had a relationship (one that might have ended badly) affect how he would look on an investigation of Rick Sainsbury?

  No, Meg decided, she wasn’t ready to take this to Marcus herself, at least not before she talked to Seth again and told him about Lauren’s reaction—and warned him that Rick might know they were looking at Pioneer Valley. But Granford Police Chief Art Preston was a friend. He would listen, off the record. Meg wasn’t sure what if any of the mess lay within his jurisdiction, but maybe he could point them in the right direction. Meg picked up her phone and hit Seth’s number.

  “You’re calling early,” he answered.

  “Seth, I’m in Northampton, and I just had breakfast with Lauren, or rather, half a cup of coffee, before she walked out on me.”

  “She’s not going to help?”

  “Highly unlikely. She thinks I’m making all this up because I’m jealous of her success and trying to trash Rick to get back at her. Look, do you think we could get together with Art and lay this out for him? As a friend, not a police officer? Maybe I’m just not telling this story right.”

  “Lauren thinks the world revolves around her, doesn’t she? I’ll give Art a call. You on your way back now?”

  “I guess.”

  By the time Meg returned home twenty minutes later, Art and Seth were standing in her driveway, having a heated discussion. They stopped
when Meg pulled in.

  “How much have you told him?” Meg asked without preamble.

  “Hello to you, too, Meg,” Art said. “He’s given me the bare outline. What you’ve got is a whole lot of guesswork.”

  “I know. But it’s still compelling stuff when you put it all together. Come on in. Coffee?” As she unlocked the back door, Meg reflected that she seemed to spend half her life making coffee.

  When they were settled around the table, Seth outlined their increasingly familiar litany of suspicions. “Is there anything you can do?” he asked when he had finished.

  “Officially? No, none of this really falls under my jurisdiction. Marcus handles murders. I can’t tell you who’ll be handling the mess at the paint factory site, but I doubt it’d be me. More likely the DEP. If you can prove that the land is still contaminated, you—by that, I mean the town—should take it to the state and see what they do. Now, if any of the evidence—and I use the term advisedly—is connected to the murder, then you and I have a responsibility to turn it over to Marcus for his investigation.”

  “But that’s the problem,” Meg said. “We don’t know if it is connected. We’re just drawing conclusions based on what little we have.”

  Art sat back in his chair and stretched his legs. “I say let him decide. Sure, he may blow you off, but at least you’ll know you did the right thing. You two have both worked with Marcus before. I know you might think he’s been kind of pigheaded in the past, but he’s honest and thorough.”

  “May I remind you that Marcus works for the district attorney and the DA is an elected position?” Seth asked.

  Art looked at him skeptically. “Are you saying that the DA will tell Marcus to back off because of the potential political impact of this? Why? The DA’d come off looking like a hero.”

  “Not necessarily, but it does add another element to the mix. Let’s just say that Marcus would have to be particularly careful how he handles this.”

  “Guys, can we please just come up with a plan?” Meg pleaded.

  Seth looked at her. “I think we should go back to my original suggestion, which Art just backed up: give Marcus everything we’ve got, tell him what we suspect, then wash our hands of it.”

  “And if he does nothing?”

  “There may be nothing to do. Not our problem.”

  “What if someone believes we still have some information stashed somewhere and comes after you or Lydia again?” Meg directed her question to Seth.

  Art sat back in his chair and rubbed in hands over his face. “What are you saying—you think whoever is behind this is going to try again to find the records? They’ve already searched the obvious places.”

  “You really think we shouldn’t worry, Art?” Meg asked.

  “I honestly don’t know. Top priority, tell Marcus. I think he’ll take this seriously, and that will give you some measure of protection.”

  Meg sighed. It wasn’t a satisfying solution, but it might be the best they had. “All right.”

  “Art, I think you and I should go together,” Seth said quickly, “since you’ve got the evidence of the break-ins. You want to set it up, officially?”

  “I guess. Why don’t you stop at town hall and pick up the records, and we can head over to Northampton together from there?”

  “Sure. I’ll make copies to give to Marcus and leave the originals in the safe.”

  “And I’ll stay home and make more coffee and wait, right?” Meg said with a touch of bitterness. “And hope that Lauren doesn’t do anything stupid like tell her boss everything.”

  “Listen, Meg, I’d love to stay here and keep an eye on you,” Seth said, “but I’ve got Mom to worry about, too. She may put on a brave front, but that break-in shook her up. It’s never happened to her before.”

  Meg waved a dismissive hand. “Look, I understand. I’ve gotten used to watching my own back. Besides, I’ve got Bree here with me. But please let me know what Marcus says.”

  After the men had left, Meg decided that she’d done enough muckraking. She needed something simple and physical to keep her busy, so she went up the hill to the orchard to help Bree water the new trees. They seemed to have settled in well, which was encouraging. A few were already beginning to show leaf buds, which was exciting, even though she knew that she couldn’t expect blossoms until the following year.

  As they wrestled hoses around, Bree commented, “I saw Art’s car earlier. You taking this to the next level?”

  “Looks like it. We decided to give Detective Marcus what we’ve got and let him deal with it. Art and Seth are on their way over there now. But I had breakfast with Lauren, and she may spill the beans to the campaign crew.”

  “What? You didn’t tell her to keep quiet about it?” Bree protested.

  “She walked out on me before I could get that far, so I didn’t have a chance to tell her to keep it a secret. She was pretty mad at me, but I’m hoping she’s intelligent enough to at least think through what I said and realize the implications.”

  “She’s practically drooling all over the candidate.”

  “She’s excited about working for him. That’s a good thing.”

  “I think it’s more than that. She’s got the hots for him.”

  “Bree! He’s married! To the perfect political wife.”

  Bree laughed. “Like that makes a difference? Tell me there’s any politician’s wife who doesn’t know or suspect that the spouse has a little something going on the side. Heck, the volunteers practically throw themselves at the candidates, and Rick Sainsbury is even reasonably good-looking. Maybe they think the charisma will rub off on them—literally.”

  Meg sighed. “So bitter, for one so young. I see your point, but I don’t think Lauren is that dumb. She’s just caught up in the novelty of it. What happens going forward depends on whether Rick wins. I don’t even know enough about politics around here to know if he has any competition. But I do know that Lauren seems committed to him and that she really didn’t want to hear what I had to say.”

  “Why would she? But keep your eyes open, Meg. Joyce is dead, remember?”

  “I don’t think I’m in any danger of forgetting that.”

  23

  Meg and Bree were finishing up their chores in the orchard when Meg saw Seth’s car pull into the driveway. He climbed out, followed by Max, who went straight over to the fenced paddock to greet the goats. Seth waved to Meg, then remained leaning against the car.

  “You two want some alone time?” Bree asked. “I get the feeling you’ve got things to talk about. I can keep busy in the barn for a while.”

  “I guess. Seth’d be happier if I weren’t involved at all, and he’s not real thrilled that his mother’s involved in this, too.”

  “Awww…I think it’s kind of sweet that he’s looking out for you both.”

  “Do you think he’s any better equipped to protect us than we are to protect ourselves?” Meg was surprised at how annoyed she was. “This is not the nineteenth century. What’s he going to do, sit on the stoop with a shotgun? Threaten to beat up anybody who shows up?” And he was still hiding whatever issue he had with Rick, Meg added to herself. Where did that fit?

  “I think it’s kind of cute,” Bree said. “Go on, let him do his chest-thumping thing. And in a way he’s right—better to be safe than sorry. I’ll be in the barn if you need me.”

  “Right,” Meg said dubiously as she started down the hill. Once she was in earshot of Seth, she called out, “Did you stop at your mother’s? I’m surprised you didn’t leave Max with her.”

  “Mom read me the riot act about being overprotective. She said I’m being ridiculous. Then she went over to Rachel’s house. She didn’t even offer to feed me.”

  “Poor baby,” Meg replied. “Did you talk to Marcus?”

  “We did.”

  “And?”

  “Can we take this inside?” Seth asked.

  “Sure. And bring Max in, too. He’s getting the goats riled up.”<
br />
  “I think he’s lonely. I’m not giving him enough attention these days.” Seth whistled. “Come on, Max, come here.” Max complied, wagging a lot of body parts, and Seth rubbed his head vigorously, to the dog’s delight.

  Meg unlocked the door and let man and dog in, which also sent Lolly back to the top of the refrigerator. “Dinnertime, isn’t it, Lolly? Seth, does Max need anything? I’ve got a bag of kibble.”

  “Go ahead and feed him so he won’t try to eat Lolly’s dinner.”

  As Meg fed the animals, she asked, “How about you? Hungry? I can give you leftovers.”

  “That’ll do.”

  After the animals ate, Lolly disappeared and Max flopped down on the floor next to Seth, his tongue hanging out. Meg settled two plates of reheated leftovers on the table for her and Seth, and sat across from him. “So, did Marcus believe you?”

  He ate a few bites before answering. “Hard to say. I’m glad Art and I went together. I told Marcus about what Joyce had told me, and what we thought might have happened. I gave him the copies of the town records and the soil reports you printed out, although since the samples weren’t collected by anyone ‘official’ as part of the murder investigation, they’re not really evidence. Art told him about the break-ins and how the timing fit. Marcus played Great Stone Face and said he’d consider our information. End of story.”

  “Did you tell him what we suspect about Rick Sainsbury’s involvement?”

  Seth leaned back in his chair, avoiding her eyes. “Meg, all we have is a lot of guesses. I didn’t feel I should drag Sainsbury into this until we actually know something. If Lauren comes up with anything relevant, I’ll pass that on to Marcus.”

  “So the short answer is, no, you didn’t point a finger at Rick Sainsbury,” Meg said. She wondered briefly if Seth was trying too hard to avoid any appearance of animosity toward his old football teammate. At what cost? She sighed. “You think Marcus is going to do something? Or was that a brush-off?”