A Gala Event

by Sheila Connolly

  “Hold on to that for later. What did the assets look like?” Meg asked.

  “Well, the insurance on the house and contents was the biggest chunk, followed by the land itself. Surprisingly little in any bank accounts.”

  “Did they list a business account?”

  “Sure did, but there wasn’t a whole lot in it.”

  “How much, roughly?”

  “About five hundred thousand.”

  “Brokerage accounts?”

  “Yes, but they’re pretty skimpy, too. Didn’t you say this guy had a lot of clients?”

  “Your mother and I found a list that said so.”

  “Can you send me a copy? Anyway, if that’s true, then either the auditors missed something, or there’s something really funny going on.”

  “That’s about what we concluded. Interesting. I wish we could get the records of bank transactions, but we don’t have any legal standing. It would be nice to know what kind of deposits Eastman was making.”

  “Can’t help you there,” Rachel said cheerfully. “One other thing: I looked up who can benefit if he—and I quote—‘feloniously and intentionally kills the decedent,’ according to the statute. Here’s what it says: ‘The decedent forfeits all benefits under this article with respect to the decedent’s estate.’ That includes the property. So if Aaron was hoping to score some cash from Mom and Dad’s deaths, he was out of luck, although he might not have known that. But you didn’t really expect that, did you?”

  “No. Although he might have been stoned enough to think it was a good idea at the time. So the other two children inherited everything?”

  “Yup. In case you’re wondering, the age of majority in Massachusetts is eighteen, so the boys—or, after Aaron’s conviction, his brother—required a guardian.”

  “But the sister was over eighteen, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes, but reading between the lines, I think someone decided she wasn’t a fit guardian. Or maybe she didn’t want to do it. Have you met the sibs?”

  “No, but I’m beginning to think I’d like to. So, bottom line, how much did the children inherit?”

  “Not a whole lot, oddly enough. Dad Eastman had a whole lot of debts, and by the time they were paid off, there really wasn’t anything left over.”

  “What happened to the investors?”

  “That’s a different search, but I’m going to guess that they settled for less than the full amount they claimed, if they got anything at all. Nobody could find any more money squirreled away, unless it’s in some offshore account that nobody knows about, and all the records were destroyed in the fire. Unless you’ve found anything that points in that direction?”

  “No, nothing like that. So the obvious conclusion is that Mom and Dad were living way beyond their means, and scamming their neighbors as well as some outsiders, and the whole house of cards was about to fall down.”

  “So does that point to a joint suicide? One that took the grandmother, too?”

  “I’d really rather believe that they wanted to burn the house down to collect the insurance.”

  “And forgot to get out of the way?” Rachel laughed. “Anyway, the insurance proceeds wouldn’t have covered the full amount they owed investors, would it?”

  “I don’t think so,” Meg told her. “But it might have given them a little breathing room. I don’t pretend to understand the mentality of a financial scammer. Maybe it’s like with a gambler: they think the next hand or roll of the dice or whatever will fix everything.”

  “So, what now, Sherlock? Or do you prefer Nancy Drew?”

  “Seth said there was something odd in the fire report.”

  “Really? What?”

  “Something about the description of how the fire spread not matching the architectural structure of the period.”

  “Trust him to pick out a tiny detail like that. But he does know houses. So what’s he think? The fire inspector got it wrong? It’s a typo? Or somebody got paid off to falsify the report?”

  “I, uh, don’t know. For one thing, we didn’t talk about it, because I don’t know that much about what he was talking about. For another, the fire report came from the state, not from a local inspector.”

  “Ah, but did the state inspector rely on a report from someone around Granford? Did he ever come out and actually look at the place?”

  “I don’t know, Rachel. By the time the fire was over, there wasn’t much to look at, as far as I can tell. Maybe a cellar hole and some parts of the foundation.”

  “Check on it. Look to see who reported what.”

  “Rachel, I’m beginning to think you’ve got a devious mind. You’ve just accused a state official of deliberately falsifying a report.”

  “You think that never happens?”

  “Well, yes, I guess it does. But why? Who benefits?”

  “Follow the money. And see if there’s anyone still around Granford who remembers the details. Oops, gotta go—the kids are arriving. Talk soon!” Rachel hung up quickly, leaving Meg holding the phone, bemused.

  She was startled out of her reverie by a knocking at her front door. As she headed toward it, she thought that she ought to make a sign saying FRIENDS: USE BACK DOOR. EVERYONE ELSE: GO AWAY. Front-door visitors usually arrived bringing bad news.

  She pulled the door open to find a fortysomething woman in well-worn jeans and a bulky sweater standing on her stoop. “Are you Meg Corey?”

  “Yes. What can I help you with?” Meg sent up a quick prayer that it wasn’t someone looking for a contribution to something or other worthy.

  “I’m Lori Eastman. I’m looking for my brother Aaron. At the police station they said you’d know where to find him?”

  Meg was momentarily stunned into silence, and then her mind started whirring briskly. “Come in, please. How did you—”

  “Find out he was out? He sent me a letter when he knew his release date.” Lori stepped into Meg’s hallway and looked around. “Nice house—kind of like ours used to be. Anyway, he didn’t have my address because I moved a few months ago and it took a while for the letter to catch up. But he did say he wanted to visit Granford one last time, so I just headed here. I live in Vermont now, so it wasn’t a long ride. Is he still in town?”

  “Uh, yes, he is. Hey, where are my manners? Come on through to the kitchen. Can I get you coffee? Tea?”

  “I didn’t plan to stay long; just tell me where to find Aaron.”

  Was she hostile or just nervous? Meg wondered. “He doesn’t have a phone, and I’d have to explain where to find him. Please, come in. I’m glad you’re here, because I have some questions.”

  “About what?” the woman asked. Definitely hostile.

  “About the fire that killed your parents.”

  Lori Eastman looked like she wanted to turn tail and run. “Why the hell would you want to know about that?”

  “Because Aaron wants to know what really happened that night.”

  “And he asked you? Who are you?”

  “A friend, I hope. I live here, at least for the past two years or so, and I run an orchard. I met Aaron . . . well, it’s complicated. I don’t have an axe to grind, and I want to help Aaron. It won’t hurt to sit down and talk for a few minutes, will it?”

  Lori wavered for a moment, then shook her head. “I guess not.”

  “Good,” Meg said firmly. She gestured toward the kitchen, and let Lori precede her. Once there, she asked, “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Water’s fine.”

  “Please, sit down. Oh, do you mind if I call my fiancé? He’s interested in Aaron’s story, too.”

  “Whatever,” Lori said. Now that she’d agreed to stay, at least for a short while, she seemed kind of passive.

  Meg stepped into the dining room and hit Seth’s speed dial number—which seemed ridicul
ous because he was no more than a couple of hundred feet away. When he answered, she said, “We’ve got company—Aaron’s sister is here.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  21

  Seth arrived in thirty seconds. “Wow, that was fast,” Lori said. “You’re the fiancé?”

  Seth extended his hand. “I’m Seth Chapin. My family lives just over the hill there, but I’ve got an office in one of Meg’s outbuildings here—that’s where she called me.”

  “I wish I could say I remembered your name, but I never really spent much time hanging out in Granford. Where’s my brother?”

  Meg stepped in. “Everybody, please sit down. Aaron’s not far away, Lori, but I was hoping we’d have a chance to talk with you. You said he’d written to you?”

  Lori gave her a dirty look, then sat reluctantly. “Yeah, but he didn’t say much, just gave his release date. He didn’t ask for anything, but he said he thought I should know he was out. I might’ve had like five letters from him all the time he’s been in jail.”

  “Were you two close when you were growing up?” Meg asked. “There’s only a few years between you.”

  “He was the bratty little kid for most of my life, and then he was the druggy little kid, and then he was in prison. Doesn’t make for a warm and wonderful relationship, you know?”

  “Are you married, Lori?” Seth asked. “You have any kids of your own now?”

  “Married, yes, more than once, but not right now. One kid, who doesn’t talk to me. Why does it matter to you? Hey, you never explained how you connected with Aaron. What are you, some kind of missionaries or do-gooders?” Lori’s head swiveled back and forth between Seth and Meg.

  The woman’s behavior was verging on rude, Meg thought, although being sat down by two strangers and more or less interrogated could upset anyone. Why had Lori even bothered to come to Granford if she was so uninterested? “No, neither,” she answered. “Here’s what happened.” Meg outlined the events at the Historical Society, and Gail’s attack, and how she had found Aaron the next day. How he had come by to thank her, and ended up staying for dinner, and then overnight. And how somehow they had found him some work, which meant he had a way to stay around town, at least for a short while.

  At the end of Meg’s narrative, Lori demanded, “Why the hell would he want to stick around here? The place can’t hold many happy memories.”

  “Where should he want to go?” Seth countered. He looked about as fed up with Lori’s lack of sympathy as Meg felt. From what she’d seen so far, Meg decided she liked Aaron better than his sister.

  “Got me,” Lori told him. “Me, I’d go make a new life for myself, somewhere else. New place, new name, all that.”

  “You were at college when the fire happened, weren’t you, Lori?” Meg asked. She was having trouble picturing Lori as a preppy type.

  “Yeah. Bunch of snobs. That was a bitch of a phone call to get in the middle of the night, when the fire happened. Oh, you poor dear, your parents were fried to a crisp.” She mimicked a fluty old-lady tone.

  Meg wondered briefly who had made that call. “Did they mention Aaron when they called?”

  “Yeah, they said he was alive. Like that made up for two dead parents.”

  “And your other brother? Kevin?”

  “Ditto. We both arrived the next day, or maybe I mean the same day. After the sun came up, anyway.”

  “Did someone come get you? A friend or neighbor?”

  “We didn’t have any friends in Granford. My folks had drinking buddies at the nearest country club, but I never saw any of them at our house. No relatives nearby, either. My brother and I each had a car, and we came separately.”

  That was news to Meg. “Could students at Deerfield have cars back then?”

  “Only seniors, with permission. When I was at Mount Holyoke, they didn’t care, except you had to find your own parking.” Lori looked back and forth between them again. “What’s it to you, anyway? I just thought I should check in with my brother. It’s been twenty-five years, you know.”

  “You never visited him in prison?” Seth asked.

  “Hell no. Creepy. And I was pissed at him.” For someone who had said she was in a hurry, she certainly didn’t seem to be rushing now.

  “Why?” Meg asked.

  “He killed our parents! And Gramma! And he burned the house to the ground. We came out of it all with squat, Kevin and me. I had to drop out of college. Kevin was lucky—his first semester at school was paid for, and the school oh-so-generously gave him a scholarship for his last semester. The insurance money just about covered the bills.”

  “Did Kevin go to college?” Meg asked.

  “Yeah, but not right away. He took a year off, and then he started. He was smart and he did well in school, so he got financial aid. I think those places take pity on orphans. He must have written a hell of an admissions essay.”

  “What did you do after you dropped out, Lori?” Seth asked.

  Lori stood up and started pacing around the kitchen. Then she stopped and leaned against a counter. “What is this, an interrogation? I did this and that. Traveled. Had some jobs. Got married, had a kid. Got unmarried. And that’s my life in a nutshell. Like I said before, why should you care?”

  “Lori, are you sure Aaron set that fire?” Meg said softly.

  Lori stared blankly at her. “What? He was convicted! There was evidence, and a trial. Who else could it have been? And why are you asking this now? It’s ancient history.”

  “Because Aaron still can’t remember that night, and that troubles him. He’s not claiming he didn’t do it, but he’d like to know for sure, if it’s possible.”

  “Good luck with that!” Lori said. “If there ever was any evidence pointing to anybody else, nobody ever mentioned it, and it sure as hell is long gone now. And I don’t doubt that Aaron can’t remember it; he was stoned every time I saw him, those last couple of years. That was his rebellion, although I’m not sure Mom and Dad ever noticed. Me, I went another way—slept around and mouthed off to my professors. I never was college material, but our folks just didn’t want to hear that. We had to be the perfect little family. Nice house, nice cars, nice kids. Maybe I should be glad Aaron broke the ice, so I could act out, too. They were so busy trying to handle him, they didn’t pay much attention to me.”

  “And Kevin?”

  “I guess Kevin was the poster boy for the family—the goody-goody kid. Hey, they got one out of three right.”

  “Do you know where Kevin is now?”

  Lori shrugged. “Last I heard, somewhere in the Midwest. I think. We do not exchange Christmas cards. He thinks I’m a lazy tramp. I think he’s a pompous asshole. Takes after Dad, I guess.”

  Meg was amazed that Lori had kept talking as long as she had. The more she learned, the more she saw the Eastmans as a classic dysfunctional family, worried about outward appearances, short on emotional connections. On the outside everything had looked nice and shiny—handsome old house, professional dad, three kids in good schools. But the cracks had already been showing, before the fire happened. “How’d you get along with your grandmother?”

  “Gramma?” Lori looked surprised at Meg’s question. “Okay, I guess. She was old, but she was pretty sharp. She’d listen to me. Dad kept trying to make it out like she was senile and helpless, but that was a load of crap. She had arthritis pretty bad and couldn’t get around easily, but her mind was all there.”

  “Did she like your dad?”

  Lori gave Meg a searching look. “That’s kind of a weird question to ask somebody you just met. What mother-in-law ever thinks her daughter’s husband is good enough for her darling?”

  “Is that a no?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Dad treated Gramma very politely, if you know what I mean. Like, ‘How’re you feeling, Virginia?’ ‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’ ‘Is
the television loud enough for you?’ Like she was a helpless idiot.” Lori’s tone was simpering. “He had that addition built on so she could live with us.”

  “Was she financially independent?”

  “You mean, did she have money of her own, so she didn’t need Dad’s charity? Sure, as far as I know. I mean, we didn’t sit around the table talking about the family budget. We kids got our tuition paid and a nice allowance and a car, so we didn’t ask questions.”

  “So let’s go back to my earlier question: do you believe Aaron deliberately set that fire?” Meg asked.

  Lori glared at her. “I don’t know, and I don’t much care. It’s water under the bridge, isn’t it? Even if he didn’t, what’s knowing anything different gonna change?”

  Meg ignored her question. “What would Aaron’s motive have been?”

  “Like I know? He was a stoner. Maybe he took the wrong pill and started seeing pink dinosaurs and thought the only way to get rid of them was to set them on fire. If he’d thought it through, he’d’ve known that it wouldn’t get him any money. I mean, not if he was convicted.”

  “So it wasn’t that he hated your parents enough to want them dead?”

  “I think ‘hate’ is kind of a strong term for what he felt. He didn’t respect them. He didn’t like them. He tried to ignore them and stay out of their sight as much as possible. And they were fine with that.”

  “He told us that he got along well with your grandmother,” Meg said. In fact, she thought, Aaron’s description of her matched Lori’s pretty closely.

  “Yeah. Actually, looking back at it, she was kind of a cool old lady. She didn’t judge us, and she stood by us. Which is more than I can say for Mom and Dad.”

  “Were your parents getting along well?”

  Lori gave a short bark of laughter. “Define ‘well.’ They weren’t planning a divorce, as far as I know. They were polite—no throwing things or getting drunk and yelling. Kind of a chilly environment, overall. Family dinners were a trip—real silver and china and crappy food. Mama was a wannabe.”