“Coincidence.”
“Really?”
“Meg, what do you want from me? Are you bored with your marriage already and looking to create a little excitement?”
Meg had to stifle a laugh. That was the furthest thing from her mind. “Good heavens, no. Seth and I were looking forward to a little self-indulgent downtime, away from both work and crimes. But does that mean we should just dismiss Enrique’s death as an unfortunate accident and walk away?”
“Not if the facts indicate otherwise. I taught you well, didn’t I?”
“I paid attention.”
“What is it you’re suggesting?” Phillip asked, now looking slightly amused.
“For now, we just talk about what’s happened, between ourselves. If we can eliminate any doubts, then we drop the whole thing and life goes on. What’s your problem with the local police?”
“That was a fast switch. It’s a long story.”
“Hey, I’ve got a couple of days clear. Tell me about it. Wait—does Mother know the details?”
“Yes and no. She knows there’s some hostility there, but she doesn’t know the details, at least not from me. Some of her local friends might have filled in some of the blanks.”
“She gets together with people around here?” Had Elizabeth ever mentioned any activities? Had she ever asked her mother what she did with herself all day? Was she still volunteering anywhere now? Meg felt a pang of guilt: had she really meant to shut her mother out of her life? Not that she did a better job of staying in touch with her father, for that matter.
“Of course she does, Meg. She’s an intelligent, active woman. What did you expect?”
Meg didn’t want to answer his question. “Is she involved in anything that might prompt someone to stalk her? Anything that touches on criminal activity? Even volunteering at a shelter could trigger something, although she might not know it.”
He stared at Meg, looking troubled. “I really don’t know,” he said, in a curiously flat voice.
It made Meg sad that her father had little idea what her mother did all day while he was at his office. She took a deep breath. “Daddy, here’s what I think we need to do—the four of us, together. We should sit down and go over everything you and I have touched on here. No polite evasions, no pooh-poohing any ideas. Just lay it all out on the table. It might not lead anywhere. Or something might surprise us. And, much as I hate to say it, we should all be alert to anything else odd that happens, just in case. It could be nothing, but wouldn’t you rather be safe than sorry?”
“You’re right. So when do you suggest we hold this free-for-all family summit?”
“Sooner rather than later? Tonight, after dinner?”
“Very well. But right now I could use a Scotch.”
“First you tell me what happened with the police chief.”
“Oh,” Phillip said. Had he hoped she would forget? Meg wondered. “I thought it was a minor mix-up at the time. Not long after we’d moved here, while I was still working in New York, the son of one of the police captains—he wasn’t chief then—got into some trouble, and since I’d met the officer socially, he came to me and asked if I’d represent the boy. It wasn’t a capital crime, but it involved some larceny, so it couldn’t just be brushed off with a fine and some community service, and the man wanted it handled openly—he was always a good cop. It would be easy for me to take on, and I thought it would be a goodwill gesture in our new community here.”
“So what went wrong? He was convicted? His sentence was extreme?”
“Neither of those. While he was being held in the local jail he was involved in an altercation, through no fault of his own, and as a result he suffered some significant head trauma. He’s never fully recovered—he still lives with his parents.”
“That’s a shame, but why does the now-chief hold this against you?”
“He believed then that I should have acted more quickly to get him released on bail, or into his father’s custody. It was a reasonable assumption.”
“Was he right?”
“Maybe I could have acted more quickly, or maybe not. But he wanted someone to blame, especially since he still has to deal with his son on a daily basis.”
Or maybe he’s still nursing some guilt that his son was attacked because he was the son of a police officer? “And how does this affect what happens now?”
“I’m not sure it does. From all I’ve heard, the chief is a good man, and an honest one. But because of what passed between us, he will go by the letter of the law in any dealings he has with me. Hence the prolonged interrogation after we got home the other night. He did nothing wrong, but he could have cut us some slack and didn’t. And that’s all there is to that.”
“All right. Is the boy functional?”
“You mean, is he competent enough to break in here and nose around? Probably. But I have no reason to believe that he bears any grudge against me personally. I’d like to think he knows that his father would not condone such a thing. And he couldn’t have been involved in the Amherst incident. He doesn’t drive.”
“That would take him out of the picture, wouldn’t it? I’m sorry that what happened—what, fifteen years ago?—has created problems for you now. I didn’t know.”
“Sweetheart, it’s never been a problem. I regret what happened, but I seriously doubt it has anything to do with what’s happening now. And why on earth should you know? This town has never been your home, and you know it no better than I know your Granford.”
Meg decided they’d had as much honesty as they could handle in one sitting. She stood up. “As I said, I promised Mother I’d make dinner, and I’ve left her alone with Seth—or vice versa—for too long. You coming down for that Scotch?”
“Are you worried that Seth will spill all your deepest, darkest secrets to your mother?” her father said, with a more honest smile, as he stood up.
“If he can find any, he’s welcome to share them.” Meg had the feeling that she knew far more about Seth than her parents had ever known about each other. Was it a generational thing? Or were they just very different people? Seth was both intelligent and a true “people person.” He got along well with everyone, but he wasn’t a pushover for anyone. She had always been more reserved—more like her mother—but she was working on that. And things for her had changed very quickly—she’d moved to Granford less than two years earlier, and here she was now, a married farmer running a business. Nothing she had ever anticipated.
“Did you ever expect to have a farmer for a daughter, Daddy?”
“I always expected you to be good at whatever you chose to do, sweetheart. If you’re happy, then your mother and I are. And we like your young man. I’m not just saying that. I’m glad you waited.”
“I kind of like him, too, Daddy.”
11
Downstairs Phillip made a beeline for the cabinet in the dining room where the liquor had been kept as long as Meg could remember. Meg joined her mother and Seth in the kitchen, and Phillip entered a moment later holding a bottle that Meg recognized as a single-malt Scotch she had never tasted—too expensive. “Anybody want to join me?” he asked, holding up the bottle.
“A small one,” Seth said, surprising Meg—he seldom drank hard liquor. Maybe it was a guy thing.
“Meg,” Elizabeth said, “I have a bottle of white wine in the refrigerator. Would you prefer that?”
“That sounds nice.”
Phillip gave Meg a challenging look and said, “Our daughter here thinks we should have a family conference about what may or may not have been happening here. And in Amherst.”
“Daddy!” Meg protested. “I only said that we should talk about it and pool any information we might have. It may all turn out to be the product of our overactive imaginations.”
“Meg, Enrique died,” her mother reminded her gently.
&
nbsp; Meg turned to her quickly. “I know that, Mother, and I take that seriously, believe me. But we need to determine if this family is involved somehow. If we decide we had nothing to do with it, we’ll let the police go on about their business. Is that fair?”
There followed a complicated exchange of glances. Phillip and Elizabeth made some wordless communication, but Meg was pretty sure that there were things that neither had shared with the other. Seth cocked an eyebrow at Meg, but she tried to reassure him without saying anything, which proved to be challenging. Finally she said, “Just sit, everyone, will you? I was going to suggest doing this after dinner, but we may all be too wiped out by then to think straight. I said I’d make dinner, and I’d like to have a little time to do that, so maybe we can get this out of the way first?”
Elizabeth fetched two wineglasses and the bottle from the refrigerator and set them on the table before taking a seat in the nook in the kitchen. Phillip found two highball glasses and added Scotch to them—more to one glass than the other. “Seth, if you haven’t tried this before, I recommend adding just a splash of water—it brings out the subtleties of the flavor. Never ice.”
Seth tolerated Phillip’s condescension with grace. “Duly noted. I’ll let you add the right amount.”
Meg and Elizabeth waited while Phillip added what he believed was just the right amount of water, then returned to find their own seats. Meg was vaguely amused that they’d chosen to settle round what was probably the smallest table in the house, but at least it forced them into close contact. She tried to retrieve a Sherlock Holmes quote about gathering everyone together, but gave up. “Thank you. Mother, Daddy, I’ve talked to both of you about what happened when you arrived home, and Daddy has filled me in on the issues regarding the police chief, so I think we’re all at a common starting point. Agreed?”
Nods all around. Her father seemed to be enjoying the show Meg was putting on, and she hoped he realized that she was serious. His expertise lay in white-collar crime; she was pretty sure she knew more of the gritty details of murder investigations. She took a sip of wine and cleared her throat. “I think we all agree that you had no problems with Enrique Gonzalez? That he was an occasional employee and you were on polite terms and nothing more?”
“That about covers it,” Phillip said. “He seemed to be a good and decent man, but we were never close in any sense.” Elizabeth nodded her agreement.
“So let’s assume he was an unintended victim,” Meg continued, “who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Daddy, was it your impression that the police agreed with that?”
“I think it’s fair to say that. They asked a lot of questions, and we answered them.”
“Did they talk to you together?” Meg asked her parents.
“At first, and then separately. As I told you, all by the book. I assume they were recording our conversations—doesn’t everyone these days? They were polite and businesslike. There was no bullying, no empty threats. Would you agree, Elizabeth?”
“I think they were fair and impersonal. I might have seen one or another officer around town here, but I’d never had a conversation with any of them, so we didn’t know each other. There were no unexpected questions. Have you turned over our trip receipts, Phillip, dear?”
“I did—I e-mailed them copies earlier today.”
“Did you get a police report on the car, Daddy?” Meg asked.
“Not yet. I did get the mechanic’s bill”—Phillip grimaced—“but that doesn’t address cause, just the damage. Let me note for the record that the car is one renowned for its quality of workmanship, so it took some effort to do as much harm as was inflicted.”
“Which suggests it was not a careless sideswipe in the dark,” Seth commented, speaking for the first time.
Phillip turned to him and nodded. “Precisely. Unless someone in that parking lot had a very heavy foot.”
“Have you ever represented anyone from that part of Massachusetts?” Seth asked.
“Not that I can recall. But when you’ve been practicing as long as I have, you tend to forget some of those smaller details. I have never appeared in court in that part of Massachusetts, if that’s any help. Of course I’ve participated in the Boston area, if not lately.”
“So, to the best of your shared knowledge, there is no one in the western part of Massachusetts who holds any kind of grudge against either of you?” Meg asked.
Phillip and Elizabeth shared another glance, and then each of them shook their head no.
“Then let’s set that end of things aside for now. What about here in New Jersey?”
“You’re asking if there’s anyone here who would want to do me harm?” Phillip asked. When Meg nodded he said, “Of course over the years I’ve antagonized some people. I don’t win every case, you know. In fact, many of my cases never go to trial—we often settle out of court. Is there anyone who was angry enough about the outcome to pursue me personally? Not that I can think of.”
A thought struck Meg. “Has anything like this happened before? Not murder, of course, but minor annoyances, small harassments?”
Elizabeth chose to answer that question. “I can’t speak for Phillip’s workplace, but I don’t recall anything like that here at home. Beyond the occasional Mischief Night nonsense around Halloween, and most of that has been innocent enough—eggs and toilet paper, that sort of thing. No serious damage.”
“You’ve lived here, what, fifteen years?” Meg asked.
“About that,” Elizabeth agreed.
“What about before that, when you were still in Madison?” Meg pressed.
“That’s ancient history,” Phillip said firmly. “And I think you would have been aware of any incidents that took place there—you were still living at home.”
“True, although you might have tried to shield me from them,” Meg said, “and I probably wasn’t paying attention.” She recalled her childhood and youth as both typical and idyllic, unsullied by nasty things like vandalism. But maybe her parents had tried to cushion her from unpleasantness—or maybe she’d just been oblivious. Something she should reexamine now.
“Meg, what are you getting at?” Seth asked.
“I’m trying to identify anyone who might have any reason to harm either of my parents. Don’t lawyers always make enemies, Daddy?”
“Of course, but those enemies seldom resort to violence, and certainly not carefully considered revenge, long after the original trial.”
Meg checked the time on the kitchen clock. “If we want to eat dinner at a decent hour, I should start cooking. I think we’ve defined the problem here, and I want you two to think about anything that stands out in the past few years. Or if you’ve ever seen anyone else with Enrique—did he always work alone?”
“It would be a relief if we could lay this at an outsider’s feet,” Phillip admitted.
Meg nodded her encouragement. “So think about it, both of you,” she repeated. “Did the police say they would want to talk to you again?”
Phillip shook his head. “We told them everything we know. If they’ve verified our alibis, they have no reason to call us back. We couldn’t possibly be suspects in Enrique’s killing.”
“They could think you have enough money to hire someone to kill him,” Meg tossed out.
“Darling, that’s ridiculous!” Elizabeth said. “Why would we want to do that?”
“Maybe he was smuggling drugs in the potted plants he brought and using your address as a distribution point. Maybe he was the son of a Colombian drug lord. Maybe he was an undercover FBI agent keeping an eye on you.”
Phillip smiled. “You are kidding, aren’t you, Meg?”
“I don’t know. Am I?”
Her father sat up straighter in his seat. “Meg, while I can’t say we are perfect, I’d like to think your mother and I have led relatively blameless lives. We have e
ngaged in no criminal activity. We have harmed no one, beyond the usual range of human interactions. We are decent people. But I understand why you’re asking these questions.” He stood up. “Elizabeth, why don’t we adjourn to the living room and let Meg and Seth deal with dinner?”
“Certainly. Meg, will you be able to find what you need?”
“Mother, I think I can manage. Shoo, you two.”
After a final uncertain glance at her daughter, Elizabeth followed Phillip out of the kitchen. When they were out of hearing range, Seth said, “Meg, what was that about?”
“You have a problem with it?” Meg said, more harshly than she had intended.
“No. They’re your parents, and you’re trying to help. Not that they’ve asked for help.”
“Of course they haven’t—I’m their little girl. And I think they’re both very good at denial.”
“You think they’re hiding something? One or the other?”
“Not necessarily.” Although Elizabeth had handed her a few surprises on her last visit to Granford, Meg recalled. “I think they want to see themselves as nice people. Dirty things like crime don’t happen to nice people. If they could wish dead Enrique away, they would.”
“But they can’t, obviously,” Seth said. “Still, Meg, your father is an accomplished lawyer. Can’t he handle this on his own?”
“Probably. Why do you think I’m doing this?”
He came closer and pulled her into his arms. “Because you want to help. Because they’re your parents. Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t want to see any blot on their lives, so you can hold on to your image of a perfect childhood.”
Meg snorted. “Perfect? Daddy was at work for most of my young life. Mother devoted a lot of energy to keeping him happy. I just kept my head down and hoped they’d ignore me and let me go on with my own life.”
“Sounds a touch defensive to me. Your father doesn’t seem like a bad guy.”
“He’s not. But he’s a dinosaur, a throwback. He believed that the man should rule the roost, and the woman was there to make things easier for him. I’m glad he acknowledges that Mother has a brain in her head, but I wonder how long it took for that to sink in.”
Seeds of Deception Page 9