“Meg, you sound angry,” Seth said.
“Well, maybe I am!” she snapped. “Not at you. But this was supposed to be our honeymoon—our time. I’d love to think I could swoop in and figure this out in a day and hand them the solution with bows on it and be done with it.”
“Well, we only arrived after lunch today. You’ve still got time.”
Meg’s anger evaporated as quickly as it had come. She leaned her head on Seth’s chest. “Seth, I don’t want us to end up like them. There’s a kind of distance between them, and that’s kind of how I was raised. They did everything right as parents—they were thoughtful and responsible, and they followed the Good Parent playbook. But I’m trying to remember when we had fun—just honest, spontaneous fun. And that’s what I mean about being oblivious: they could have angered someone without even noticing, because they don’t really connect well with other people.”
“And that’s come back to bite them now? Why?”
“I don’t know, because I don’t know who or why, and maybe they don’t know, either. Or maybe I’m making this whole thing up in my head as a way to vent my own frustrations. Please tell me you won’t think of me as your personal maidservant, and that you’ll share problems with me and that you’ll treat me like an equal partner?”
“Do you really have to ask?”
“No,” she said into his chest. “Call it post-wedding jitters. We didn’t have time for pre-wedding jitters.”
They stood like that for a while, just leaning against each other, until they were interrupted by Elizabeth’s voice. “I didn’t hear much cooking noise, so I thought I’d check if you two were all right. It looks like you’re just fine.”
Meg peeled herself away from Seth and smiled at her mother. “We are. And we’re going to make you fine, too. But first we’re going to make dinner.”
12
Dinner was some kind of chicken thing that Meg improvised, with onions and random vegetables and whatever spices she could find, her mind elsewhere. No one complained. It was an odd meal, Meg reflected, watching her family eat. Back in the day there had been a rule in the household that one did not discuss anything at the dinner table that might upset one’s digestion. Murder would certainly be on that list, not that it had ever been a remote possibility. At some point the conversation landed on Seth’s occupation as a safe topic.
“You took over your father’s business, didn’t you, Seth?” Meg’s father fired the first shot across the bow.
“I did. He was a plumber, but he passed away at a fairly young age. I was just finishing college, but somebody had to pay the bills, so I stepped up.”
Meg thought about speaking out in defense of plumbers—a noble and useful profession—but decided to let Seth fight his own battles. He seemed comfortable enough, and she knew that whatever issues he might have had with his occupation, he had long since come to terms with them.
“But now I’m getting more involved with home restoration,” he went on, “which seems a natural segue from plumbing. I know a lot about the innards of older construction, you might say.”
“And how do you differentiate between restoration and renovation?” Phillip asked.
“It’s a sliding scale, but I try to maintain or replicate as much of the original structure and detail of a building as possible,” Seth told him. “If someone comes to me and asks me to gut the interior so they can go with Scandinavian Modern, I turn them down politely. I love historic buildings, even what goes on behind the walls. I hate to see them destroyed or muddled up.”
“Do you have a cutoff date for your definition of historic?”
“Probably World War Two. Construction styles and materials changed significantly after the war, and I’m simply less interested in more modern buildings. But as you have probably noticed, there are plenty of older buildings in Granford and the surrounding area that need work, and plenty of people who respect the structure but have no idea how to repair or maintain it.”
“What about this house?” Elizabeth asked suddenly.
“I think it’s representative of an era. Good quality, handsome proportions.”
“And rather too large for the two of us,” Elizabeth said. Phillip shot her a glance.
“Are you thinking of moving?” Meg asked.
“Let’s say it’s on the horizon,” Phillip hurried to say.
“Along with retirement?” Meg said.
Phillip smiled. “Meg, my dear, I’m not sure what I would do with myself if I retired. I haven’t done enough interesting things in my life to consider writing a memoir. I don’t like golf, and I have no hobbies to speak of. Your mother and I play bridge with some other couples on occasion, but I wouldn’t miss it if we stopped.”
“Phillip!” Elizabeth said. “You never told me you didn’t like bridge!”
“I don’t dislike it, but it’s not a consuming passion. It is nice to socialize with our friends, and it’s lovely to spend time with you.” He smiled at his wife.
Nice save, Daddy, Meg thought.
Phillip turned to Meg. “What about you? Do you see yourself running an orchard in ten or twenty years?”
Meg glanced briefly at Seth, who pointedly ignored her, examining the pattern on his dinner plate. “It’s been such a hectic couple of years that I haven’t given it any real thought. We did plant some new trees last year—sort of a joint venture, before we were even talking about marriage. They won’t produce a significant crop for a while yet. So I guess you could say I’ve looked that far ahead. In some ways I still feel like the new kid on the block—I’m still learning. And there is a lot to learn, believe me, from both the agricultural side and the business side. I will say that I like Granford and that part of the state. Maybe Seth and I could open a detective agency.”
That got Seth’s attention. “Uh, what?”
“Just kidding. Well, maybe in winter, when things are slow for both of us. We could call it Winter Crimes. Daddy, you could be our legal consultant, as needed.”
“At what billable rate?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.
“We’ll negotiate.”
“There’s cake for dessert,” Elizabeth announced. “Store bought, I’m afraid, but the market has a good bakery. Anyone for coffee?”
“Please,” Meg said. “I’d like us to have our wits about us.”
“Why?” Phillip asked.
“Because we aren’t finished with what we were talking about earlier.”
Seth sent her a warning glance, then stood and began collecting the plates to take to the kitchen.
“Oh, sweetheart, can’t we give it a rest? We’ve told you everything we know,” her mother said.
Meg could understand her mother’s reluctance, but waiting would benefit no one. “No. The longer we wait, the less clear details are in anyone’s mind. I would concede that maybe your subconscious would kick something to the front of your brain if you gave it a rest overnight, but there are other things to talk about.”
Elizabeth sighed, and picked up more plates. “I’ll go and make sure Seth is all right, and start the coffee.”
“You don’t let go, do you, Meg?” Phillip said.
Was he pleased or annoyed? “I’d like to resolve this so Seth and I can go back to enjoying ourselves,” Meg told him.
“We never asked you two to do this, you know.” Phillip sounded a bit testy.
“I know that. I want to. And four minds are better than two.” And Meg wasn’t sure the original two had planned to give the problem any thought at all. And at the moment all four minds around the table had been influenced by the consumption of some amount of alcohol. Would that loosen things up?
Elizabeth and Seth returned, with Seth carrying a tray laden with cake, plates, forks, and cups. Elizabeth carried the coffeepot.
Meg waited until everyone was seated again before asking, “Are
we all on board with this?”
This time Phillip and Elizabeth exchanged glances of their own, and Phillip shrugged. “If this doesn’t produce anything useful, no harm, no foul. Right?”
“Of course. But please be honest. Now, Daddy, tell me all about the clients who have lost cases with you.” And Meg sat back and waited.
As Meg could have predicted, Phillip sputtered, “I can’t discuss my clients. You know that.”
“All right, don’t name names. Would you like to play Twenty Questions?”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“I ask a question that requires only a yes or no answer. See? No names.”
“Give me an example,” Phillip said.
“Have you ever lost a case?”
“Yes.”
“Have you lost more than ten cases?”
“Over what time period?”
“Questions aren’t usually allowed, but you’re new at this. Ever, in your legal career.”
“Lost when I was the lead attorney, or lost as part of a team?”
“Daddy, you’re complicating things. To make this quicker, let’s say lost when you had primary responsibility for the client’s welfare.”
“Yes, more than ten, then.”
“More than a hundred?”
Phillip looked up at the ceiling, presumably counting. Finally he said, “No.”
“Did any of those clients threaten you in any way? Physically? Financially?”
“Yes, of course.”
That answer surprised Meg. “Do you know where those who threatened you can be found, at this time?”
“No, not all of them.”
“Could you find them, if you had to?”
“Probably. Is that a yes answer?”
“Close enough. Are there any in particular that concern you?”
“They hadn’t, before all this started this week.”
“Have you changed your mind about them?”
“Can I defer that question? Is there such a thing as a ‘pass’ response?”
“I’ll make an exception for you, Daddy. Were any of the cases you lost capital offenses?”
“A few.”
“Did the crimes involve violence?”
“In some cases, yes. Not all. And most of those are well in the past.”
“Were these clients men or women?”
“That’s not a yes-no question, but I’ll answer anyway. Primarily men. I’ve had very few women as clients.”
Meg tucked that fact away for future consideration. She tried to figure out what other questions would be helpful. “Have you done any pro bono work?”
“On occasion, yes.”
“Were any of those clients among the ones you might take a harder look at now?”
Phillip looked exasperated. “Meg, I understand what you’re doing, but this is not simple. Most of the answers I’ve given you refer to my earlier days as an attorney, not my current activities. I was a court-appointed attorney for a number of cases. Some of those clients were . . . I’m not sure how to say this without sounding offensive. Black, poor, uneducated, angry? Honestly I cannot recall if any of those clients felt I had let them down and vowed to get back at me for it. I’d have to check my records. And they were all years ago.”
“Did the police ask you any of these questions?”
“No.”
Meg digested that for a moment. To her it looked as though the police had made up their minds early on that Enrique had interrupted a break-in and paid the price. Her parents were not currently suspects, if they had ever been, although the police chief might have given them a hard time for personal reasons. She looked around at their small circle. Her mother appeared to be dozing off. Seth just looked tired. Neither had said a word.
“Do either of you have anything to add?”
“What?” her mother said, startled out of her doze. “No, dear. I think you’re doing a good job. Have you found out what you wanted?”
“Some of it, Mother. Seth? Anything from you?”
“Did any of your clients include members of the Mafia?” Seth spoke up.
Meg struggled to hide a smile. Was Seth serious? Was the first thing that occurred to him the New Jersey Mafia?
She was surprised when her father responded seriously. “What do you know of them, Seth?”
“Only what I’ve read, and that’s not much. Are they still active around here?”
“Perhaps not as much as they once were, but they’re still a force to be reckoned with.”
“Did you ever represent a known member of that group?” Seth asked.
“Possibly. If so, it was nothing we ever discussed openly. We were careful to stick to terms like ‘my business’ and ‘my colleagues.’ An early version of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell.’”
This was something she’d never known about, and she had trouble picturing her staid father dealing with the Mob. But, she had to admit, they were businessmen in their own way. “More than one case?” Meg asked.
“Only one that stands out in my memory,” Phillip told her.
“What was the case about?”
“If I recall correctly, it was about a business transaction that went awry. I handle mainly contract law, so that’s why this person would have come to me. I believe we prevailed, and as far as I know the two sides settled without further dispute.”
“Are both parties still alive?” Seth asked.
“Seth, I really don’t know. I don’t follow those things anymore, not that I ever did to any great extent. I can’t answer yea or nay. Can we wrap this up, Meg? We can always pick it up again tomorrow, if you still have questions.”
“Don’t you have to be at work?”
“I freed up a couple extra days when I learned that you might visit—one of the perks of working for yourself, as long as there aren’t plants or animals depending on you. I am at your disposal.”
“Meg, I think taking a break is a good idea,” Seth said.
She looked more carefully at him and felt dismayed. He’d gotten up at dawn to drive here, and he’d sat patiently while she’d badgered her mother and father with questions about a crime or crimes that might not even exist, ignoring him. He was a remarkably patient man. Great spouse she was turning out to be. “Of course we can.”
“Perhaps tomorrow you could take Seth to Madison, show him where you grew up?” her mother suggested.
Was Elizabeth trying to get them out of the house? Or just break up the inquisition? Either way, it was a reasonable idea. “Sure. That is, if you’re interested, Seth.”
“I’d enjoy that. You said it’s not too far away?”
“It’s a half-hour drive. Well, then, it’s a plan.” She stood up. “Mother, Daddy, I’m sorry if you feel like I’ve put you through the wringer. I really would like to tie this up and make sure you’re in the clear.”
“We know, dear,” her mother said. She stood quickly, then gave Meg a hug. “I think it’s safe to say that this problem will still be here in the morning. Good night, you two.”
Meg and Seth carried the dishes to the kitchen and cleaned up after Meg’s parents had vanished. Seth washed while Meg dried them. “Am I going about this all wrong, Seth?” she asked, focusing on her dish towel.
Seth didn’t look at her. “I’m not sure why you’re doing it at all.”
“You don’t think there’s something fishy here?”
“Maybe, but I’m not sure it’s our business.”
“I guess I feel it became our business if it stretches to Amherst.”
“I heard that ‘if,’ Meg. There’s no evidence it’s connected to what happened here. Why can’t you accept it as an unpleasant coincidence?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry—I’m not being fair to you, I know. This isn’t the way either
of us planned to use this time.”
Seth wiped out the sink and set down the sponge before turning to Meg. “Well, the first part was nice, and it’s not over yet. And you’re going to show me where little Meg lived in the morning. Do you still know anyone there?”
“Not a soul, as far as I know.”
“So it won’t be a long trip. Are you ready to go up?”
“Yes. Shoot, I never gave you the grand tour. Did you find the room we’re staying in?”
“Yes, because I took our luggage up a while ago. It’s kind of hard to get lost in a house, you know.”
“I guess you’re right. Then let us retire and you can look forward to a stroll through my childhood haunts, which aren’t anywhere near as pretty as Granford.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
13
“This room is ridiculously big for a bedroom,” Meg said the next morning, after making sure Seth’s eyes were open.
“My guess would be that it started as two rooms, with the back end a kind of solarium. Hence all the windows,” he told her.
“I hadn’t thought of that. I like the window seat, though. Too bad that wouldn’t fit in our house.”
“I have a feeling that the people who built and lived in our house didn’t have time to sit in a sunny corner and read a book. Assuming they knew how to read.”
“Of course they did—I’ve seen some diaries, although they don’t come from the original builders. But you’re right—I doubt they were exactly literary people, Emily Dickinson notwithstanding.”
“Isn’t it kind of early in the morning for ‘notwithstanding’?”
“I, sir, am a literary person. I’m also hungry. Are you still up for touring my childhood turf?”
“This is your turf, so it’s up to you to decide. Are you trying to weasel out of it? Are you hiding something there? May I ask, though, how long you want to devote to this task of sorting out Enrique’s death?”
Seeds of Deception Page 10