Seeds of Deception

by Sheila Connolly

  “I can see that it looks like that. But it was shortly after that that my parents returned home to find a body in their yard. That’s certainly an extraordinary event, and the accident paled in comparison—although oddly enough, it provided an alibi for my parents. Wouldn’t you say?”

  “I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation,” the chief said, his tone neutral.

  “I understand. To be honest, I was willing to consider those two incidents as unrelated, just a regrettable coincidence, until Arthur was attacked in the office he and my father share. Three cases of violence within a week, directed toward my family or their colleagues, seems beyond normal to me. Do you agree?”

  Chief Bennett didn’t answer her question. “Do you have more to say?”

  Yes, plenty, Meg thought, but not much that she felt she could share with the police. “I don’t want to overstep my bounds, but are you willing to entertain the possibility that these events are related, and that they’re part of a campaign directed against my father?”

  “Why would I do that? And what is the goal? He hasn’t been attacked personally, has he?”

  He made a good point. “No, he hasn’t. But maybe this isn’t about physically harming him or killing him. Maybe someone is looking for something, and the other people just got in the way. Both the death and the attack on Arthur could be viewed as unplanned—spur of the moment, committed by an amateur who had not expected to find anyone else on the scene. Maybe the car thing was a ploy to keep my parents away longer, and it succeeded—they ended up staying another night. In both cases the—may I use the term ‘perpetrator’?—was surprised to find someone in his way.”

  Chief Bennett’s expression didn’t change. “You make it sound as though this attacker knows your father fairly well, and has been following his activities. Why else would he expect to have clear access to his home and office?”

  “It’s easy to keep track of people these days, isn’t it? I’m sure my father and even my mother mentioned to friends and possibly clients that they planned to attend my wedding last week and would be out of town. My father asked Enrique to keep an eye on his house, and Enrique might have mentioned it to someone. And there’s always the Internet. If my mother decided to put an announcement about my wedding in one of the local papers, it would be out there for anyone to see, and the logical assumption would be that my father and mother would be there.”

  “And someone assumed the house would be empty? If someone were checking your father’s plans, at least digitally, then he should have guessed that your father would have made that arrangement with Enrique Gonzalez or someone like him to keep an eye on the house. They could have watched until they knew the coast was clear. Why didn’t they?”

  “You’re right. Please, don’t get me wrong—I’m not trying to present you with a perfect theory of all these crimes, tied up with ribbons. All I’m asking is that you keep an open mind about the idea that they may be connected. Maybe they’re not exactly professionals.”

  “And the attack on Arthur Ackerman? How does that fit?”

  “He had planned to be out of state visiting family, and must have told clients he’d be out of reach for at least a few days. He and my father gave their assistant the week off as well. This perpetrator could have known from any number of sources.”

  “Why would this perpetrator have been in the office?”

  Meg had to admit to herself that was the weakest link in her theory. What could anyone have wanted so badly from her father that they would kill someone, even if it was an accident? “I don’t know. As I said, maybe he was looking for something he believed my father had, either at home or at the office.”

  The chief sat back in his chair and regarded her steadily, but not unkindly. “Ms. Corey, I understand what you’re trying to say. I admire your desire to defend your father. But you’ve given me next to nothing tangible to follow up on. There is little physical evidence to support your story.”

  “Did you look at the bronze lion bookend at the office after Arthur was attacked?” When the chief looked blank, Meg said, “It’s one of a pair that my father keeps on a bookshelf in his office. I understand it may have been kicked out of the way when the EMTs arrived and removed Arthur. But my father told me that when he arrived, it was lying in the middle of the floor, close to Arthur. It may have been used to hit Arthur—it’s certainly heavy enough. An intruder could easily have grabbed it as a weapon.”

  “Just as he grabbed a convenient brick to kill Enrique?” the chief said, sounding skeptical.

  “Yes, in much the same way.”

  The chief didn’t answer for a few moments, staring at the pen he was flipping between his fingers. Finally he said, “Ms. Corey, it might surprise you that I’m aware of your activities in your hometown, and your involvement in more than one other crime. The one involving Congressman Sainsbury in particular. I can use Google as well as any other person. That’s why I agreed to talk to you at all. I believe you’re intelligent, and that you mean well. But aren’t you too close to this? Aren’t you biased in favor of your father?”

  “Possibly. But the same charge could be leveled at you, against my father.”

  The chief stiffened. “Ms. Corey, as I’ve already said, I would not compromise a case for personal reasons. I encourage you not to let your imagination run wild for those same reasons.” He stood up. “Now, I have other matters to attend to. I’ll see you out.”

  Meg stood reluctantly. He was ending this meeting, but at least he’d listened. Maybe. “Thank you for talking with me, Chief. I appreciate it.”

  The chief escorted her to the front door. They shook hands cordially, and he watched her leave the building. It was already getting dark, and Meg trudged toward her car, frustrated. Had she accomplished anything? It didn’t seem likely.

  Back at the house, her mother was still in her room, either asleep or hiding, with the door closed. Her father apparently had not yet returned from cleaning up the office. Meg sighed; now there would never be any sort of forensic evidence. She and Seth sat in the kitchen with coffee, and she updated him on her meeting.

  “He agreed to see me, which was the first surprise,” Meg said.

  “What’s the man like?” Seth asked.

  “As I told you, stiff. Formal. Serious. I don’t think he smiled once while I was there. Okay, we were discussing a murder and the attack on Arthur, but he wasn’t being terribly sociable.”

  “But he listened?”

  “He did. He let me talk, and I explained as clearly and briefly as I could. I told him my own theory.”

  “How did he respond?”

  “He’s got a very good poker face. I can’t say I impressed him—I have the feeling that he thinks I’m trying too hard to clear Daddy’s name, for personal reasons, which is a fair assumption, I guess. I asked him to at least consider what I had said, and to keep an open mind. He did say one thing that surprised me: he looked me up online. He read about my connection to the congressman.”

  “That’s interesting. At least that gave you some bona fides—you’re not just the flaky daughter.”

  “Maybe,” Meg said glumly. “I’m running out of ideas. Even if he does dig a little harder, there’s still precious little to find. I’ll be the first to admit that my case is weak.”

  “Are you ready to give up?” Seth asked.

  Meg sighed. “I don’t know. I’m beginning to think maybe we should. I don’t know what we hope to accomplish, or can accomplish in a short time. Unless somebody comes up with something, all I see are dead ends. Do you want to go home?”

  “Yes, but not if you feel there’s something left to try. It’s not like we have to get back to our jobs right this minute.”

  “Well, we can decide tomorrow. So, we ate out for lunch. Did Mother mention anything about dinner? Should we make something?”

  “Let’s see what’s in the
freezer,” Seth said.

  “Another thing I love about you, Seth Chapin. You just roll with the punches. Solve a murder? Sure. Make dinner? No problem. You are a very steadying influence.”

  “I hope I’m more than that!” he protested.

  “Definitely, Mr. Chapin.”

  19

  The freezer yielded frozen beef chunks—at least, Meg thought it was beef, but it could have been lamb or kangaroo for all she knew—so they decided on a stew for dinner. Uncomplicated comfort food, substantial and warming. She and Seth worked companionably in the spacious kitchen.

  “It’s amazing having this much room to work in, isn’t it?” Meg commented.

  “It is, but don’t let it give you any ideas. Does your mother enjoy cooking?”

  “I think so. She was never a fancy cook, but we always ate well. Are we making dessert?”

  “Let’s get the stew put together first,” Seth said wisely.

  So they peeled and chopped, and set a large Dutch oven filled with sautéed beef pieces and onions and stock and red wine on the stove top over low heat to cook slowly. Meg pushed her hair out of her face. “I guess we need to stick close to make sure it doesn’t cook too fast—I don’t know this stove.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Seth said. “So, dessert.”

  “Did you find any apples in your searching?”

  “I believe I did—check the drawer in the fridge.”

  There were in fact apples there, although Meg sneered at the pedestrian Delicious variety, which in her opinion were good for neither eating nor cooking. But she wouldn’t have known that two years earlier, so who was she to judge? “What are we making?” she asked Seth, who was seated at the dinette watching her.

  “We? I’m labor—I’ll do the peeling. After that you’re on your own.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Meg said, reaching for her mother’s well-worn copy of Fanny Farmer. In the dessert section the book fell open to a familiar apple crisp recipe, which Meg recalled fondly from her childhood. Comfort food indeed. She handed several apples to Seth. “Here. Peel.”

  The stew was simmering and the apple crisp was in the oven when Elizabeth came into the kitchen. She still looked tired, but less anxious. “Something smells wonderful. I’m sorry I abandoned you this afternoon, but I was exhausted.”

  Meg stood up and hugged her mother. “Don’t apologize. You’ve had a rough week.”

  “And you’re supposed to be on your honeymoon, sweetheart. Hello to you, too, Seth,” Elizabeth added. “Now, if you’d just booked a plane and left for Bermuda or Cancún like normal honeymooners, you wouldn’t have gotten dragged into all this.”

  “Mother, can you see either of us sitting on a beach and sipping whatevers? That’s not our style. We wanted to see Monticello, and that’s what we did.”

  “Well, I still feel badly that things turned out like this. What did you find to do this afternoon? Apart from cooking, that is?”

  Meg and Seth exchanged glances. “I went to talk to Chief Bennett,” Meg finally said.

  Elizabeth’s expression changed quickly to concern. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I think he isn’t seeing the whole picture of what’s happening.”

  “Did he actually talk with you?”

  “He did. Yes, I was surprised, but I think he was trying to be fair. Look, can we wait until we’re all together before I go into the details? You do think I should tell Daddy I went, don’t you?”

  Elizabeth perched on one corner of the banquette. “I suppose you have to. But I wish you wouldn’t dig yourself in any deeper, Meg. This isn’t your problem.”

  “Why is it not my problem?” Meg protested, a bit louder than she had intended. “You’re my family, for God’s sake.” Seth, who’d been washing the last of the dishes they’d used, laid a restraining hand on her arm, and Meg held her tongue until she was calmer before addressing Elizabeth again. “Mother, as a family we’ve always led a very, well, untroubled life. I can’t remember fights and crises. I’m not complaining, but looking back it seems almost unnatural. Fighting is normal—it means you care about something, rightly or wrongly. The absence of fighting suggests to me that you don’t care.” Or you’re worried more about appearances, she added to herself.

  “Margaret, of course we have feelings. You must know that we cared about you. We wanted to create a stable environment to raise you. But neither your father nor I was particularly demonstrative. Did you feel unloved?”

  “No, of course not. But this isn’t about me, don’t you see? Did you and Daddy never fight, even behind closed doors?”

  “Well, yes, occasionally. Meg, why are you bringing this up now? You can’t rewrite history. Your father and I have had a reasonably happy life. I hope you had a happy childhood. You’ve grown into a strong, smart woman, and I’m—we’re very proud of you.”

  “I had a fine childhood, but that’s not the point. Right now I feel like shaking you. A dead man was found in your backyard—someone you knew. Daddy’s partner was attacked and his office trashed. You can’t just treat this as a small inconvenience and brush it off. It’s not that simple.”

  “It’s not your problem,” Elizabeth repeated stubbornly.

  “But it is! You’re my parents! I can’t just drive off into the sunset and leave all this dangling, not if I think I can do something about it.”

  “And you seriously think you can?” Elizabeth challenged her.

  “I can try,” Meg said. “And in case you hadn’t noticed, I can be as stubborn as you.”

  Elizabeth shut her eyes for a moment, then shook her head. “Apparently I can’t stop you. Have you spoken about what you’re doing to your father?”

  “Not since I talked with the chief. He’s still at his office, isn’t he? I was thinking we could talk at dinner, or after.”

  “He won’t be happy about it, you know.”

  “Yes, but I’m tired of being the good little girl and keeping quiet.”

  Elizabeth produced a small, sad smile at that. “I always thought you were a bit too good. I guess you finally outgrew it.”

  They heard Phillip’s car pull into the driveway, and the slam of the car door. Phillip came stomping up the stairs and into the back hallway. “Damn, it’s cold out there. Is that dinner I smell?”

  Elizabeth got up to greet him with a peck on the cheek. “The children cooked. Isn’t that nice? When will it be ready, Meg?”

  Meg checked the clock. “Half an hour. Shall we eat in the dining room?”

  “If you’d like,” Elizabeth said.

  Seth, who had wisely kept silent through the exchange between Meg and Elizabeth, stood up. “I’ll set the table, if Meg will show me where things are.”

  “No problem,” Meg said. “Come on.” She led him down the hallway to the dining room. “You didn’t say a word,” she said in a low voice.

  “What did you want me to say?” he replied. “I like your mother, and I agree that your family has a tendency to smooth over the surface of things. But that’s your battle to fight, not mine.”

  “And your family was different, or at least your father was.”

  He smiled at her. “Yes. There was a lot more yelling, mostly from my father—my mother always played peacekeeper. I tried to keep my mouth shut, but Stephen usually got in his face. Meg, do you really think you and I can make a difference in the next couple of days?”

  “With the murder and the assault? I . . . don’t know. But I want to be sure we’re not missing something. If you want, we can set a deadline. It’s Friday now. Say, if this isn’t resolved by Monday, we head home?”

  Seth looked relieved, Meg thought, and she felt a pang—this wasn’t anything he would have wished for. But then, neither had she.

  “I think that would be the best thing to do,” Seth said slowly. “I’m sorry, Meg. I k
now it’s got to be difficult, to walk away.”

  “It is. But I owe you something, too. And we do have our own lives to think about. I’m sorry you have to sit there and listen to all this stuff. Ancient history.”

  “It’s part of what made you who you are, Meg.” He folded her into his arms, and Meg leaned against him.

  Damn, this couple thing is complicated, Meg thought. She wanted an equal partnership with Seth, but nothing was that simple—no matter how hard her mother tried to create that appearance. She and Seth meshed well, and he was a great sounding board, and truly grounded in what mattered. Even so, she still felt guilty thrusting him in the middle of her parents’ problems—particularly since her parents didn’t appear to want their help at all. “Thank you,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “For just being who you are. For staying around. I don’t think I’d have the nerve to challenge my parents without you here to back me up.”

  “You underestimate yourself, love. But I agree with you. Pretending this isn’t happening or that it’s insignificant won’t make it go away, and your parents have to understand that.”

  “Exactly.”

  * * *

  Somehow the table got set, and it was barely half an hour later that they were all seated around the big table in the formal dining room. On the driveway side, multipaned French doors occupied the center of the wall, but showed only darkness outside. Meg realized that she couldn’t see lights from any of the other houses on that side of the street, which meant that the occupants of those houses couldn’t see inside her parents’ house either. The high hedges worked; no one would have noticed Enrique’s comings and goings, nor those of anyone following him. She should take a look out back, to see if the same was true there. Since the patio was nestled in a sheltered corner, it was probably equally invisible. There would be no help from the neighbors.

  Meg hoped to get through dinner without any unsettling discussions. They all deserved some pleasant family time. Seth and Phillip conferred over a choice of wine, and Phillip brought two bottles of red to the table. Meg set candles in the center of the table, lit them, then dimmed the overhead lights.