A Gala Event

by Sheila Connolly

  “Interesting. Why do you think that?”

  “Because the numbers look outstanding, even after the stock market went to pieces in the eighties.”

  “I’ll take your word for that. But how does that help Aaron?”

  “It doesn’t, directly, but it could provide a motive for a lot of different things. Maybe the side business was tanking and Dad took the easy way out. Maybe he didn’t plan to die, but only to collect life insurance on his wife or her mother—whom he’d already labeled as physically impaired—or the insurance on the house.”

  “Setting a fire to achieve any of those ends sounds pretty risky.”

  “Well, of course it is: look at what happened.”

  “Do you have anything like proof?” Seth asked.

  Meg’s shoulders fell. “No. It would help if we could see his bank statements, or the terms of the insurance payout, assuming there was one. Arson wouldn’t disqualify Kenneth Eastman for that, would it?”

  “Only if he set the fire.”

  “Which doesn’t seem likely, because he wouldn’t have been found dead in his bed if he had. What’ve you got on for tomorrow?”

  “More of the same. I thought we might grab an hour or two in the afternoon to go visit Eric in Hadley. You remember him, don’t you?”

  “The guy with the barn full of bits and pieces of buildings? Sure,” Meg said.

  “He’s got bathtubs and sinks, too.”

  “Aha! Then I will be delighted to accompany you. What did you think of Bree’s idea?”

  “Kind of intriguing. I’ve been reading about those small houses. I’m not sure the chicken house is structurally up to it, but it would be fun to design one.”

  “Maybe you could get an article in the paper out of it: from chicken house to people house.”

  “Something to think about. You ready for bed?”

  “I am. Funny how exhausting reading financial statements can be.”

  * * *

  The next morning Seth was up before Meg once again, and when she arrived in the kitchen he had already finished breakfast. “I walked Max. Maybe we can take him with us later. He’s been cooped up a lot lately. One o’clock sound all right for the great bathtub hunt?”

  “Sure. I’m going to make some phone calls this morning, and then maybe dig into the orchard summaries for the year. I’ll give Rachel a call; I’ve got something she could look into without moving off the couch, if somebody hands her a laptop.”

  “Sounds good. See you later!” Seth went out the back door whistling.

  Meg sat savoring her coffee and waited for some wisdom to surface about what she and Lydia had seen last night. Had Dad Eastman really torched his own home? Had he intended to kill his mother-in-law? Had she left any money? She made a quick note to add that to the list of things she wanted to ask Rachel to look for. Dad had the so-called in-law apartment constructed for Gramma, so he would have had a key, and could have locked her in. And then gone back to bed? That sounded absurd.

  Maybe Mom Eastwood had been working on the dark side of the business, which would have given her the opportunity to slip her mother the possibly incriminating documents, when she could. But she wouldn’t have planned to die as part of a cover-up, nor to kill her mother. Maybe she just wanted to know there was a backup copy of the documents in her mother’s hands, sort of an insurance policy. Meg was sorry that she couldn’t ask any of the offspring about the state of the Eastwood marriage, but the senior Eastmans had shipped the children off to boarding school, and Aaron, while still living at home, would have been too stoned and self-absorbed to notice much of anything, by his own account. Or maybe Mom had drugged her husband and set the fire and lain down to die, unable to face the shame of public exposure. Which still wouldn’t explain why her mother had died. Had anybody done autopsies? Had they done a tox screen for any of the dead, which might have shown drugs in their systems, administered so that they would go quietly?

  This is ridiculous, Meg told herself. She was creating increasingly dire scenarios based on next to nothing. Could she eliminate or enhance one or more of them? First she should read the police and fire reports, and maybe give particular attention to the discussion of the fire. Second, she could hunt down information on the parents’ estate, which might include the payment from the insurance company or companies. Or would those have gone directly to the kids? Or rather, two out of the three of them? Could Aaron benefit from life insurance policies, if he’d been convicted of causing the fire that killed his parents, even unintentionally? That was something she could ask Rachel to check. She was reaching for the phone when it rang, and she jumped before gathering her wits and answering it.

  “Ah, Meg, it’s Christopher. I hope it’s not too early to call?”

  “Of course not; I keep farmers’ hours. How are you? We haven’t talked much lately.”

  “Fine, fine. I received your message and apologize for the delay in returning it.”

  “No bad news, I hope.”

  “No, none at all. Everything appears to be on track for that rather unique license you requested I obtain, and I’m looking forward to the event. Any additional details?”

  “I’m working on it. Seth and I want to keep the wedding simple and informal, so nobody has to fuss too much. We’re just gathering together our family and friends to celebrate.”

  “A very sensible approach, my dear. Is Briona still working her magic?”

  “She is indeed. No doubt you heard about our trouble with one of our pickers a couple of months ago?”

  “I did. A tragic thing, although it may herald a change from the old guard to the new. The times keep changing.”

  “That they do. Anyway, Bree was great throughout, and it can’t have been easy for her, with kind of mixed loyalties. She does much more than keep the orchard going.”

  “I always had faith in her abilities; she’s an outstanding young woman. Well, I won’t keep you. We can touch base shortly before the event, in case there are any changes.”

  “I look forward to it, Christopher. Thank you for getting back to me. Bye!” As they ended their call, Meg mentally made another check mark on her to-do list. Next she needed to set Rachel to hunting for whatever online information was available. As long as she was still willing. Meg had little concept of what it must be like to be hugely pregnant; from what she’d read, it consisted mainly of having to pee a lot and watching your ankles swell up. And, of course, getting up and down would be a challenge, with your center of gravity completely whacked out. While she wasn’t ruling it out, she wasn’t hurrying to have a child right away. But then, she wasn’t getting any younger, and she had a suspicion that Seth would love to have a child, even if he hadn’t said so directly. Enough, Meg! That wasn’t a decision she had to make this minute, or even this year.

  She cleaned up the kitchen and sorted through her cooking supplies—definitely in need of restocking yet again, after feeding so many extra people recently. Mainly she was killing time until it was a reasonable hour to call Rachel. She couldn’t make up her mind whether Rachel would be trying to sleep as much as possible, knowing that would quickly become a luxury when the new baby arrived, or whether she’d be so uncomfortable that she couldn’t sleep at all. Plus the kids had to be out of the house for school. Maybe she’d risk calling now, and if Noah answered, she just ask him to tell Rachel to call.

  Rachel answered on the first ring. “Hi, Meg. You have an assignment for me?”

  “How did you guess?” Meg said, laughing. “Did you talk to your mother?”

  “Yeah, I called her early this morning, before she left for work. Sounds like you had a fun evening. I’m jealous!”

  “I can’t think of many people who would think sifting through old financial records would be fun.”

  “Shows you how bored I am. What can I do to help?”

  “Find out anything you
can about Kenneth Eastman—anything about the company, his finances, his will, the estate, insurance policies, you name it. And if either his wife or his wife’s mother pops up along the way, make a note of that, too.”

  “You have the mother’s maiden name?”

  “Shoot, no. You can probably find it online somewhere, like in an engagement or wedding announcement.”

  “I’ll find it. What’re you looking for?”

  “Fiscal malfeasance.”

  Rachel giggled. “Ooh, I like that term. You think he was cooking the books?”

  “Something like that. Bilking the neighbors, scamming God knows who. There’s something fishy in there. Of course, it may have had nothing to do with his death or the fire. But it sure looks suspicious.”

  “You’ve got the police report?”

  “Yes, and the fire report, but I haven’t had time to go over them in detail yet. I can scan the relevant parts and e-mail them to you. Doesn’t look like there’s much there anyway. Hey, anything new with you and Pumpkin?”

  “My doctor just keeps saying ‘soon.’ No help at all. I mean, I could have told her that much. So I appreciate the distraction from you.”

  “Happy to oblige. I just hope we find something that points somewhere. Wow, that sounds really stupid,” Meg said.

  “I know what you mean, though. I’ll let you know what I come up with by the end of the day. How’s that brother of mine?”

  “Busy. We’re going to go looking at antique bathtubs this afternoon.”

  “Ooh, lucky you. Are you going to sit in them to see which one fits best?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s probably a good idea. Minus water, though. Take care, Rachel. I’ll talk to you later today.”

  “Happy bathtub hunting!” Rachel said cheerfully and signed off.

  Meg scanned the Eastman materials and sent them off to Rachel, spent a couple of hours assembling the documents from her orchard sales and expenses, then made some sandwiches, assuming Seth wouldn’t have eaten lunch when he arrived. He rolled in just before one and, as Meg had predicted, wolfed down a sandwich quickly.

  “Ready to go?”

  “I am. Rachel said I should try the bathtubs on for size.”

  “You talked to her? Anything new?”

  “I gave her a working assignment: to find all the Eastman documents online pertaining to his business, insurance, estates, etc. She was thrilled to have something to occupy her mind. She said she’d report back by the end of the day. Nothing new on the baby. The official medical estimate is ‘soon.’”

  “Typical. Okay, let’s head out.” Once they were in Seth’s van—he seemed optimistic that they would find what they wanted, and he hoped to be able to transport the items—he said, “Did you read the official documents?”

  “I did. They were disappointing.”

  “In what way?” Seth said, turning onto the road toward Hadley.

  “Chief Burchard stuck to the simplest possible explanation: Aaron started the fire, then fled, but didn’t get very far, so he was found on the lawn, without a mark on him.”

  “Did he assign a motive?”

  “Not really. Aaron was a ‘troubled youth’ involved with drugs, period. The parents were model citizens. The whole thing was tragic. End of story.”

  “The prosecution went for manslaughter?”

  “Yes. They wouldn’t commit to saying that Aaron deliberately killed his family, but they danced around it. He wasn’t injured, he didn’t try to help them out of the house, he didn’t go for help from anyone else, he didn’t seem remorseful when he was found or at any time after. It could have been a judgment call, and they took his youth into account. Despite his drug use, he hadn’t been in any official trouble with the law, before the fire. If they suspected he was dealing at the high school, there was no mention of it.”

  “What did the fire report say?” Seth asked.

  “I think you should look at it—you’d probably understand it better than I would. There was some line in it about the balloon framing allowing the rapid spread of the fire, which is why the building was fully engaged when the fire department got there.”

  Seth was silent for several beats. “That can’t be right,” he finally said.

  “Why?”

  “Because the Eastman house was built in the later eighteenth century, like yours and mine. Balloon framing didn’t come into use until the nineteenth century.”

  “I don’t understand,” Meg said.

  “Balloon framing means the studs run from the bottom sill to the top of the structure, which, as you might guess, leaves nice open channels for air flow—and fire. If there was any insulation back then, it would have been something flammable, too, like straw. Colonial timber-frame construction, on the other hand, has more interruptions within the studs, so the fire can’t spread as quickly. It may be splitting hairs, though—it was an old wooden building, so it would burn fast. Where did the fire start?”

  “In the basement, where Aaron apparently kept his drug stuff, away from prying eyes.”

  “And where was the parents’ bedroom, where they were found?”

  “Directly above, on the second floor. Why?”

  “There would have been ample time for them to realize what was happening and get out of the building. What about the grandmother’s space?”

  “That was added toward the back, at the same end of the house.”

  “And that was relatively new, so modern fireproofing standards should have been in place. Again, she should have had time to get out. Something’s not right.”

  They’d reached Hadley while they talked. “Well, let’s see what Eric’s got for us. We can resume this discussion later.”

  “Lead on!” Meg said.

  20

  They spent an entertaining couple of hours wandering through Eric’s large, rambling old barn, loaded with architectural salvage, both large and small. Seth wanted a bathtub to replace the existing modern one in the main bath, plus a sink to replace the existing one there; another sink for the new bath, part of the laughingly entitled master suite; and a third sink for the new powder room. The shower for the master suite would be tiled, they had decided, but there were plenty of modern tiles available. They found a small mirrored cabinet that would fit over the sink, suitable for toiletries and prescriptions but not much more. By the end, they’d found everything they wanted, and Seth spent some time haggling over the price, in a friendly way, with his buddy Eric. While they dickered, Meg prowled around poking at other odds and ends, wondering if she’d ever take home decorating seriously. As long as there was something for people to sit on and eat off of and light to see by, she was more or less content, although she did draw the line at plastic furniture. Other than that, she enjoyed picking up odds and ends that appealed to her, with no particular plan in mind.

  Finally Seth retrieved her from the maze. “All set. There’s too much stuff for me to carry, so Eric’s going to deliver them by truck. The bathtub’s going to take two of us to get upstairs, and I need to get the plumbing into place and make sure the floor is up to the task before that can go in.”

  “Whatever you say, dear,” Meg said primly, but with a mocking tone in her voice. Seth raised one eyebrow at her. “So I guess we need to look at tiles before that happens?”

  “Yup. Let me check my calendar when we get back. Anyway, I think we’re ready to roll.”

  “When did you plan to start?”

  “This weekend, if nothing else crops up.”

  “Oh. Wow.” Somehow Meg had been envisioning this in a misty distant future. Like . . . after the wedding. “How long will it take?”

  “Two, three days? I promise that I’ll make sure you have workable plumbing throughout, anyway, although you may be surrounded by bare lath for a few days.”

  Meg smiled at him. “I a
m descended from hearty pioneer stock. I’m sure I can cope.”

  “Attagirl!”

  The phone was ringing as they walked into the house, and Meg grabbed it up to see Rachel’s number.

  “Hi, Rachel. Everything okay?” she asked anxiously.

  Rachel laughed. “I keep forgetting everybody is hovering over their phones waiting for baby news. No, Pumpkin is still taking her own sweet time. I’m just reporting on the information you requested.”

  Seth was still standing by, but once Rachel had assured her that she was all right, Meg waved Seth away. He pointed toward his office, at the back of the property, and Meg nodded vigorously to show that she understood, then turned her attention back to Rachel. “You’ve already found stuff?” Meg asked.

  “Sure—you just have to know where to look, and how to ask nicely. So, you want to hear?”

  “Of course I do!” Meg said quickly.

  “All right. I started with the Hampshire County probate court, because that’s in Northampton. If you don’t already know it, wills and deeds are a matter of public record, so anyone can ask to see a will. A lot of the current documents are online, but we’re looking for something from twenty-five years ago, right? Now, in theory you’re supposed to show up in person to ask for a copy, or fax or mail a written request, and pay for the copying fee for a hard copy. But I know the clerk there—we were in high school together—and I explained I was very pregnant and she’d be doing me a really big favor if she could fax me the information ASAP, and she said yes. It helps that she just had a baby last year, so she knows what it’s like.”

  “And?” Meg said, getting impatient.

  “I’ve got the will! And not only that, but since the Eastmans both died in the fire, the courts had to identify all the beneficiaries and creditors, and include an itemized inventory of the assets and liabilities.”

  “Who was the executor?”

  “Court-appointed, since the kids weren’t in any shape to handle it. He did an okay job. I can give you his name if you want, but I don’t know him.”