A Gala Event

by Sheila Connolly

  “A day, no problem. Then you have to grout them—that’s another day. I promise I’ll leave at least one toilet operational. If you want to bathe, I’ve got plenty of buckets.”

  “You’re a prince,” Meg muttered. Then more loudly she said, “So we can have everything in place by Sunday?”

  “That’s my plan. Frame things tomorrow, tile Saturday, grout Sunday. I guess Monday would be the earliest I can install the fixtures, but that won’t take long. Want me to do the dishes?”

  “They can wait. You do realize we have the house to ourselves?”

  “Ah. I’ll do the dishes in the morning.”

  26

  Meg woke early Friday morning to the sound of banging and crashing. It took her a moment to identify the source of the noise: Seth must have started demolition. She lay in bed because she really wasn’t ready to face the mess that adding not one but two bathrooms would create. No doubt they’d be as historically correct as indoor plumbing in a colonial house could be, but mess was mess, old or new. She sent a brief prayer to the universe that Seth didn’t find anything unexpected when he opened up the walls. Antique pipes and dry rot from years of leaks she could handle. Dead animals, less so. Dead bodies? Please, no! Maybe an old photo or some letters—that would be okay. Or maybe someone had found a convenient hidey-hole for his or her bottle of patent medicine, which had been heavy on the alcohol.

  She could hear Bree’s voice alternating with Seth’s, so Bree had reemerged from wherever she’d gone the night before. Or hidden. Meg reluctantly decided she’d better get up. Seth would have warned her if he’d turned off the water, wouldn’t he? Maybe she could grab a quick shower before then.

  Downstairs she found Seth looking all too happy, holding a small sledgehammer and already covered with plaster dust. “Oh, good, you’re up,” he said. “I didn’t want to break up the alcove in the bedroom while you were still asleep.”

  “And you thought I could sleep through this?” Meg asked, waving at some serious holes in the walls. “What is it you’re doing here, again?”

  “Downstairs powder room, with toilet and sink only. I’m sure you don’t want to give up any kitchen space, so I thought I’d carve it out of the front room. I’ll continue the line of the chimney, up to the doorway—that would minimize what I’d have to take out and reconstruct. It’ll be small but functional. And the plumbing will run up from the basement to that room, and then beyond it up to the new bathroom off the bedroom. We’ll tie them all into the existing waste pipe. Make sense to you?”

  “I guess. Is there coffee?”

  “Of course.” Seth waved toward the stove.

  Meg poured herself a cup and sat down. “Bree, where’d you disappear to last night?”

  “I went to a movie. Looked like you had a real crowd here, and you didn’t need me. Seth says the baby came?”

  “She did. I hope we’ll get to see her today. Lydia took the older kids home with her, and Seth parked the two elder Eastmans at his place. Aaron went back to the alpacas. Is that everybody, or have I forgotten someone?”

  “That’ll do,” Bree said. “I think I’ll go hang out with Michael until you get this mess sorted out.”

  “Seth promises it will all be done by Monday. Right, dear?”

  “No problem,” Seth replied, between whacks of the hammer. Meg wasn’t sure he had even heard her question, but it was too late to stop him now.

  Lydia called shortly after nine. “Kids safely at school. I checked with the hospital—Rachel and the baby are in good shape, so she’s going home today. I think it might be better to wait until she gets home to try to see her, don’t you? I’ll pick up the kids after school and head over there directly. You can join us, or maybe you’d like to wait until she’s settled. And what the heck is all that banging and crashing?”

  “Seth has begun the great bathroom project. He’s still taking out walls, so I thought I’d grab a shower before he dismantles the plumbing. I agree that Rachel probably doesn’t need a crowd as soon as she gets back. You go ahead. I can run over tomorrow. So, I’ve got the day free. Are we on for the insurance agent?”

  “Let me give him a call right now. I was waiting to see what Rachel’s schedule was before making any other plans. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve talked to him.”

  “What story are you going to give him?”

  “Easy. I’ll tell him I’m thinking of changing insurers. Talk to you later!” Lydia hung up.

  Meg got up and wandered over to where Seth was staring at what had been a wall, and taking measurements. “Do I have time for a shower?”

  “Make it a fast one,” he said. “Was that Mom?”

  “Yes. She said Rachel and the baby will be home later today. I thought the family needed time to settle in, so I may go over tomorrow. Maybe you can come with me, but only if you get enough done here first.”

  “Then take your shower so I can get back to work.” He grabbed her for a quick kiss. “Good morning.”

  “Mmm, I love the taste of plaster dust in the morning.”

  Meg was toweling dry her hair when Lydia called back. “Can you make it at eleven?” Lydia asked.

  “Sure. I can’t even think here; Seth is destroying things I’d rather not know about. Was he always like that?”

  “I’d say yes. He’d make things out of blocks and then smash them with great glee.”

  “Figures. Let me get dressed. Can you pick me up?”

  “Sure. See you about quarter to eleven.”

  Lydia arrived on time, and Meg hurried out to meet her, relieved to be away from the noise and dust. Seth appeared to be in hog heaven and probably hadn’t even noticed that she’d left. “Do you know,” Meg said, as she fastened her seat belt, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen walls taken apart? The only construction project I’ve been part of, up close and personal, was sanding my kitchen floor, and that didn’t involve destroying anything.”

  “I wish I could say I knew what you meant about destruction, but Seth’s father was always so busy fixing other people’s problems that very little got done around our house. I think that’s a large part of how Seth learned: by doing it himself.”

  “But then he went off to an outstanding school and got a degree in literature, right? That kind of implies that he wanted to get about as far from plumbing as possible. I’m sorry—that sounds rude, given what happened.”

  “I understand your question. I’ve always regretted that Seth didn’t end up teaching at a university somewhere, but somebody had to keep the business going, and he was the oldest. Do you think he’s unhappy with how things turned out?”

  “Actually, no, I don’t. He likes to fix things, both real, physical things and more abstract problems. I’m not sure his heart was ever in plumbing, but since he’s made the transition to restoration and renovation, he’s been a lot more cheerful. He’s doing something he loves.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear. “

  Meg decided it was time to change the subject. “How well do you know Jacob Patterson?”

  “Mostly professionally. I’m sure Seth has mentioned that Massachusetts is pretty strict on construction standards and required permitting, so that means all plumbing has to be inspected before you can close up the wall. And the work has to be done by a licensed plumber—no DIY jobs. Without all the right paperwork, no permit, no inspection, no insurance coverage. So my husband and Jacob crossed paths quite often. And it’s a small town, so we’d run into each other now and then. But it’s not like we were bridge partners or took vacations together.”

  “How much competition for insurance business is there here? Or was there back when the fire happened?”

  “Jacob’s the only one who lives in town here. Obviously there are larger firms in other nearby towns. But people in Granford know him, and they like to do business locally, so I think he’s done all right. He sho
uld be pretty close to retiring now, although it’s not a physically demanding job, so I guess he could work as long as he likes.”

  “And he was on Ken Eastman’s list of investors.”

  “He was.”

  Lydia pulled into a small paved area in front of a house that looked as though it dated from the 1950s. It had a discreet painted shingle hanging on a post in the front, advertising JACOB PATTERSON, INSURANCE AGENT. “Here we are.”

  “How do we handle this, Lydia?” Meg asked.

  Lydia sighed. “Like I know any more than you do about interrogating people? I’d say start with Aaron returning to town and take it from there.”

  Jacob greeted them cheerfully at the door. “Lydia, what a treat to see you again! How’ve you been? And this is Meg Corey?” He thrust out his hand. “I’ve heard all sorts of things about you, Meg.”

  “All good, I hope.”

  “Well, except for those crimes you keep running into. But that’s not your fault, now, is it? Lydia, what can I do for you? You said something about reevaluating your insurance needs?”

  “Can we sit down, Jacob?”

  “Sure, sure, come on into my office.” He led the way into a smaller room toward the back, where there was a desk with two chairs in front of it, and stacks of files. “Please, sit. Sorry about the mess; my receptionist left for lunch—about three years ago.” Apparently it was a joke he’d told before, because he waited expectantly for a response from them.

  Lydia laughed politely, then turned sober. “Actually, Jacob, there was something else that Meg and I wanted to talk about. You’ve heard that Aaron Eastman is in town?”

  Jacob gave them a long look. “Yes, I have. Sad story, that.”

  “You set up the insurance policy on the Eastman house, didn’t you, Jacob?” Lydia asked.

  “I did. Damn good thing, too. It was fully covered, including contents. Life insurance policies for the mister and missus, too.”

  “And that house coverage included arson?”

  “Sure. It was a premium policy, against all contingencies. Even flood, although the Connecticut River never made it anywhere near the house. Course, that was before global warming. Anyway, the policy payouts went into the estate, and from there to the kids.”

  “And the Eastmans set all that up not too long before they died?” Lydia asked.

  Jacob gave her an odd look. “That’s right. Ken and Sharon were taking a long look at what coverage they had. The kids were getting older, but they had college costs and such still to come. And the former policies were out-of-date. They were just being responsible. Why do you want to know?”

  “Was that your only business dealing with Ken Eastman, Jacob?” Lydia asked softly.

  Jacob focused on Lydia with an expression that Meg thought contained equal parts calculation and sorrow. “Now, why would you ask that, Lydia?” he said, clearly stalling.

  Lydia glanced at Meg before saying, “Because your name turned up on a list of investors in Kenneth Eastman’s investment fund.”

  Jacob seemed to shrink just a bit. “I see. Where did you find that? It’s private. And all of Ken’s records went up in flames.”

  Lydia shook her head. “Not all of them, Jacob. His mother-in-law, maybe with her daughter’s help, kept copies of quite a lot of them, and she made sure they were kept in a safe place, not at the house. There are a few boxes’ worth, and they make interesting reading. Meg and I have seen them.”

  “What do you want from me?” Jacob said, in a near-whisper.

  “Lydia, let me take this one,” Meg said. “Jacob, Aaron Eastman came back to Granford as soon as he was released, because he had some questions about some of the details of the fire that killed his parents.” That’s an evasion, Meg! But she didn’t want to give away too much too soon. “Now he wants to stay around until he figures out a few things. By the way, he was the one who took the documents out of the house, and he told us about them.” Almost the truth. “Lydia and I have both looked through them, and we decided that there were several things about this Eastman fund that were suspicious. When we learned that you were one of the participants, we came straight to you. We hope you can answer some of our questions.”

  “So you haven’t talked to any of the others?” Jacob asked.

  “Not yet,” Lydia answered him. “A lot of them have passed away, but I recognized plenty of the names. What did you know, Jacob?”

  Jacob leaned back in his creaking desk chair and looked over their heads. “Then? Not as much as I should have, but I guess you’d have to say I didn’t want to know. Ken’s fund was paying out good money, and I wasn’t going to ask questions. Besides, there were a lot of smart people on that list.”

  “And when did you finally decide that there was something fishy going on?” Meg asked. “After the fire?”

  Jacob shook his head. “No, it was before that. Look, I’ve always been a pretty honest guy. You have a job like mine, in a small town, you get to know people, and you know things about ’em. Like how much they’re worth. What kinds of jewelry or art or cars they’ve got. How much they want to leave for their children. You know? It’s kind of personal, but I didn’t run around talking about them, because that would have been wrong. I was real happy when Ken asked me to invest in his fund, because it was like I had arrived socially.” Jacob smiled at the memory, but without humor. “It meant I was one of the important folk in Granford. I’d been careful about saving, so I invested a little. And then a little more. Lydia, how well did you know Ken?”

  “Hardly at all. My husband, Stephen, wasn’t part of Ken’s social class. He was one of the ones who worked for men like Ken, not with them.”

  “Well, then you know what I mean. So Ken invited me into his special circle, and I kept investing more and more, and it kept paying out, until it didn’t. So I asked him flat out, what’s the problem? And that’s when Ken told me the fund was underwater, and he’d been juggling the accounts to make the payouts but he just couldn’t do it anymore. And then he asked me how much insurance he had on the house, and what would happen if it burned down.”

  27

  That was something Meg had not expected to hear. “You think Ken Eastman was planning to burn down his own house?” she asked.

  Jacob looked down. “Maybe,” he said cautiously. “But he didn’t come out and say it in so many words.” Then he faced Meg and Lydia. “Look, you’ve got to understand the situation. By the time we had that conversation, I’d sunk just about all the savings I had into his fund. It had been doing really well, so we just kept plowing all the earnings back into it. Or at least, that’s what Ken said. But then something went wrong. The statements kept looking real good, but one day I came to him and told him that I needed to take some cash out because I had to put on a new roof, and after he waffled for a while he more or less admitted that the investment fund was in the toilet because of the lousy economy, and the only way I’d get my money out of it was if he could get his hands on a big chunk of change. I guess he had started thinking that collecting the insurance on the house was the easiest way out of the mess he’d gotten himself into.”

  Jacob shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “He was real careful, you know? He never came out and said, I’m going to burn down the house for the insurance money. He just asked if he had good coverage on everything, and that included arson. So I said, that’s part of the standard package, and then I made a joke about why he was worried about arson. He kind of shrugged and said something like, you never know. Things happen. And then he went on to say, ‘I read somewhere that a water heater could explode without any warning and start a fire.’ I told him, sure, it’s been known to happen, if you don’t vent it properly and there’s a spark of some kind to set it off. And then he gave me this weird smile and said, ‘I’d better make sure mine’s okay.’”

  “How long before the fire was that?” Lydia asked.


  “Maybe a month? I didn’t think anything more about it; I thought he was just joking around. And I never did see the money I asked him for—I had to take out a bank loan for the roof.”

  “And you didn’t remember this conversation when the house did in fact burn to the ground?” Meg demanded.

  Jacob turned to look at her. “Why would I? The police said it was the kid’s fault, messing around with making drugs or something. No one ever suggested anything different. He was convicted, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes, he was,” Lydia said.

  By a judge who had lost a lot of money to Ken Eastman, Meg added silently, although that had never been made public. Maybe that judge hadn’t gotten her money back, but it was possible that she’d wanted to shut down the whole investigation before anybody looked too closely at the Eastman finances, fearing there might be a paper trail that led right to her. “Jacob, do you believe that Kenneth Eastman was planning to burn down his own house for the insurance money?” Meg asked, looking him in the eye.

  Jacob stared at her for several seconds, then said, “God help me, yes. I didn’t ask him directly. Maybe I didn’t want to know. I guess I figured, Ken was a smart guy, most of the time, and if he did it, he’d do it in a way that nobody would get hurt. So I went along with it. We bumped up the insurance on his place, which I probably shouldn’t have, because there were some issues with it: knob and tube wiring that was still active, no smoke alarms—although those were less common then than they are now. In any event, it was pretty clear to anyone that once a fire got started in that house, the whole place would go up pretty fast. Plus it was well outside of town, and it would take the fire department some time to get trucks out there. By then it would be hard to stop.”

  “Jacob, as you very well know, three people, including Ken, died in the that fire,” Lydia said. “What went wrong?”

  Jacob immediately looked defensive. “Why do you think I would know? If you’re asking if Ken tried to kill himself, I’d say no.”