Seeds of Deception

by Sheila Connolly

  When they were all seated, Elizabeth looked around the room. “I’d forgotten how lovely this room could be. It’s been a while since we’ve sat in here, or at least, with company. The room—and the house, of course—was built for a more genteel era, and for people with substantial means. Which meant at least one servant. Did you know that there’s a foot button under the table to call the cook from the kitchen?”

  “The world has changed a bit, hasn’t it,” Meg agreed. The stew was savory, the wine was mellow, and Meg let herself relax into the moment.

  “You never told us the details of your trip back to Madison, Meg,” her father said. “Did you find it much changed?”

  “It’s hard to say, Daddy. Obviously some of the stores have changed, but not the basic layout. It doesn’t seem any larger than it did. I took Seth by the high school, but I didn’t feel any need to go in and reminisce. And we went to look at our old house—which has really changed! They’ve dressed it up a lot, but I gather that end of town is pretty upscale now, so maybe they were trying to keep up. That’s the first house I really remember—I was, what, four when we moved there?”

  “It was a nice place to live,” Elizabeth said. “Good schools, convenient commute for your father—although longer than from here—and good people.”

  “Were you sorry to move, Mother?”

  “Yes and no. We’d spent some happy years there, but once you’d gone off to college there was no reason to stay, so we found this house. What about you, Seth? You’ve lived in one town all your life, and from what you’ve said, you have many generations of ancestors who did the same. How do you feel about that?”

  “At the risk of sounding provincial, I’ve always thought it was an asset. My father ran a small business, and he knew his clients and their homes well. That kept him in business. I’ve inherited that, although I’ve shifted my emphasis away from plumbing. But the bottom line is, it’s home. I feel a sense of ‘belonging,’ if you will. I hope Meg will feel that, too.”

  “I already do, in a way,” Meg said thoughtfully. “Part of it by proxy, through you, but part of it because—well, this may sound silly, but I kind of feel the presence of all those generations of ancestors, and I’ve got nearly as many of those as you do, Seth. You know, I always remembered that one trip we made to Granford years ago, Mother. The house and the place made an impression on me, although I thought the two old ladies were kind of weird.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “I think they were, a bit. They had grown up in that house, and lived in it all their lives. No offense, Seth, but I think they demonstrated the downside of staying in one place. They were cut off from the world. You’ve certainly reached out farther.”

  “I hope so,” Seth said.

  “Oh, Daddy,” Meg interrupted. “Did I tell you I ran into Joe Caffarelli in Madison? He’s running the sporting goods store, the one that his father started. He told me he’d been clearing out some of his father’s papers and discovered that his father had been a client of yours.”

  Phillip looked over their heads, searching his memory. “Caffarelli . . . oh, right, I think I remember. Small store, on the main street? I think I heard from someone that he’d passed away. Is the store still in the same place?”

  “It is. I’m not sure it’s changed at all, except for a coat or two of paint. I didn’t think you handled that kind of client.”

  “Generally I didn’t. But we were new in town—it must have been oh, the late eighties? I used to run into Joe Caffarelli or his wife at your school functions, since, as you mentioned, his son was in your class. After one event we got to talking and he said he needed a lawyer and wondered if I could recommend anybody. I said I was new to the area and didn’t know many local people, but I’d be happy to take a look at his problem and see if there was anything I could do. I didn’t expect it to be complicated.”

  “Did it turn out otherwise?” Meg asked.

  Her father’s expression changed, as if a curtain had dropped. “I can’t discuss client cases with you.”

  “Daddy, this was almost thirty years ago, and your client is dead. Isn’t there some sort of statute of limitations or something?”

  “I suppose there’s no harm to be done,” Phillip said grudgingly.

  “Well, now you’ve got me curious. Was there something unexpected about the case?”

  “It involved my only brush with the Mafia,” Phillip said.

  20

  “What?” Meg erupted.

  Phillip held up the second bottle of wine. “If I’m going to tell this story, it may take some time. Would anyone like a refill?”

  “Let me,” Seth said. He took the bottle and made a circuit of the table. Elizabeth placed her hand over her glass and shook her head.

  When Seth had resumed his seat, Phillip said, “Seth, have you been aware of much Mafia activity in your part of Massachusetts?”

  “I can’t say that I have. I’d guess that there’s more going on in Boston, maybe Worcester. I know there are drugs around, so there may be some connection there, but it could as easily be some other group bringing them in. My general impression is that our part of the state isn’t important enough to bother with.”

  “That’s possible. Our situation, when Meg was young, was rather different. We’d lived in the Boston area, so I knew a bit about what was going on, but when we moved to New Jersey we found ourselves in the midst of a real hive of Mafia activity. Well, to be entirely accurate, by the time we arrived the FBI and other agencies had begun cleaning house, so in a way it was the end of an era for the Mafia, but there was still plenty going on. Did you realize that the show The Sopranos was based on a New Jersey mob family?”

  “We don’t watch much television, Daddy,” Meg said impatiently. “So all the hype was real?”

  “Sad to say, yes. All the gruesome headlines, all the stories about hits and bodies dumped who knows where—most of those actually happened. My law firm had nothing to do with all that, but it was hard to ignore if you read the New York or Newark papers or watched the news.”

  Meg tried to remember if she’d been aware of any of that and came up blank. Apparently she hadn’t been tuned in to local news when she was in high school. She did recall that there were plenty of Italian surnames among her classmates, but it had always seemed ridiculous, not to mention bigoted, to assume that they were involved in illegal activities. She wanted to think she had taken the high road by ignoring the idea, but it was more likely that she’d just been oblivious. “So how did you get sucked in, and where did the Caffarellis fit?”

  “It was very small potatoes, my dear. Joe Caffarelli—the father—had opened his sporting goods store a few years earlier. It was doing pretty well, since he supplied all the uniforms and equipment to the local schools. But then he started having issues with his suppliers. You have to remember this was all before the Internet, so you still had to talk to real people to place orders and such, not just fill out forms on a computer.”

  “So why did Joe need help?” Seth asked.

  “As I said, he’d been in business for a few years, and for most of that time had had no problems. Suddenly his suppliers started giving him trouble. Orders were misplaced or delayed, or what was delivered was wrong. But for a small business, it made an impact. Joe took pride in the service he provided to local communities.”

  “Was this more than one supplier?” Meg asked.

  “A couple—not all of them. But the ones giving him trouble were both in New York. You would think that the orders would be simple, but something wasn’t right. Joe thought for a while that it was his fault, or he sent in the wrong order, or the vendor had changed accounting systems, but after a while it became clear that the vendors were acting deliberately. So he asked me if there was anything I could do.”

  “You mean, like sue them?” Seth said.

  “Let’s say, threaten to sue them. Send them a
letter on official law firm stationery and put the fear of God in them.”

  “Did that work?” Seth asked.

  “No, which surprised me. Joe had told me he thought his difficulties were due to ordinary human error on the part of the vendors, but when they ignored my letters I began to wonder if there was something more going on. After giving them a reasonable amount of time to respond, with no results, I went back to Joe, and that’s when he filled me in on the whole picture. He hadn’t known all the details when he first talked to me.”

  “Dessert?” Elizabeth interrupted, standing up. “Why don’t I put on some coffee?” Without waiting for an answer she disappeared toward the kitchen.

  Meg watched her quick retreat, then turned to her father. “Has she heard this story?”

  “I’m . . . not sure. As I’ve told you before, I’ve always been scrupulous about not talking about my clients at home. Joe was my client then, so I would not share any confidences. But she had to have been aware that I was working with Joe, through the mothers’ grapevine. Madison was not a large town. I think she deliberately turned a blind eye to any hint of even mildly illegal activity in our new home.”

  “So you never discussed this?”

  “No, most likely not. And, as you well know, we remained in that community until after you graduated from high school.”

  “Yes, I know that. So what happened with you and Joe?”

  “We arranged meetings with the vendors, one at a time. Both said more or less the same thing. Or maybe I should say, they didn’t say the same thing. I wish I could have taped the conversations, because they’d be classics in doublespeak by now.”

  “I’m not following,” Seth said.

  “I don’t blame you, my boy. I had trouble figuring out what the message was myself.”

  “And what was that?” Meg asked.

  “The details are a bit fuzzy now, but as I recall, the gist of it was that Joe was not ordering from the right vendors, or he was not ordering enough, or maybe it was the shippers who were unhappy, but the bottom line was, he needed to spend more money to get anything at all. Plus they disavowed any knowledge of the missing or incorrect orders and demanded full payment from Joe. That alone nearly crippled his business.”

  “So he paid? And kept on placing inflated orders?” Meg said, outraged.

  “He felt he had no choice, if he wanted to stay in business. Meg, he didn’t tell me all of this, and it took me several years to put the pieces together. As it turns out, Joe was connected to one of the families, but he didn’t want to have anything to do with them. He wanted nothing more than to be an honest businessman in a small town, and raise his family. But the family wouldn’t let him do that.”

  “By family, I assume you mean Mob family?” Seth asked.

  “Yes. You have to remember those were difficult times for the Mob. The feds were looking hard at them, and making significant arrests. A lot of their own were turning informer in exchange for lighter charges or sentences. So those running the show were trying hard to hang on to what they had. My guess was—and I never discussed this with Joe—that his family wanted to make an example of him. The income from his tiny business couldn’t have been important, but what mattered was keeping him in the fold and toeing the line with the bosses.”

  “But his business survived?” Meg asked. “After all, it’s still there, and his son is running it now.”

  Phillip nodded. “It did, but barely. Look, the people in town liked Joe, and liked doing business with a local store. Joe had to raise prices a bit, but they accepted that. Joe told me he’d decided not to pursue his case any further. He thanked me for my efforts and tried to pay me for my time, but I told him I didn’t want any money from him, and I was sorry that I hadn’t been able to help.”

  “So you two stayed on good terms?”

  “Yes. There were no hard feelings. As I said, it was much later when I realized I couldn’t have made a difference, because Joe’s problem was not about standard business practices. But I never heard the details from him, just an apology for wasting my time. And after another couple of years, the whole crime scene changed. And that is the sum total of my interaction with the New Jersey mob.”

  “So they never sent thugs after you to threaten you?” Meg asked, not sure if she was joking.

  “Of course not. Even back then, the Mob had become a business, with a bottom line to watch. A lot of the thugs had law degrees or MBAs and wore suits.”

  “Meg?” Elizabeth’s voice floated out from the kitchen. “I could use a hand.”

  Meg stood up. “Excuse me. Apple crisp coming up.”

  In the kitchen, Elizabeth had plates and cups laid out, waiting. “Should we use a tray?”

  “Sure. Mother, were you hiding from our conversation? You looked unhappy when it came up.”

  “You mean, about the Mob? Maybe I was. I didn’t want to know back then.”

  “Why? If you don’t mind my asking,” Meg said.

  “You have a right to ask, I suppose. Because I was new to the community and you were young, and Phillip was commuting and working long hours at his new firm so I was often home alone, and I just didn’t want to add anything else to my plate. Of course I knew the Mob existed in New Jersey, but I didn’t go looking for trouble. Your father told me something vague about Joe’s case when Joe dropped it, and I didn’t ask any questions. And to the best of my knowledge, that was the only time your father crossed paths with organized crime. Most of his work in those days was with giant corporations with an ever-changing cast of characters. Shall we go back in?”

  “Let’s.” Meg loaded up a tray with four plates of apple crumble. Her mother picked up the coffeepot, and together they marched into the dining room. A second trip took care of the cups, sugar, cream, spoons, and forks.

  When they had distributed desserts, Meg said, “So, it’s still a small world. On my first trip back in decades, I run into exactly one person I knew back in the day, and it turns out that his father was your client. What’re the odds?”

  “You really haven’t kept in touch with any of your other high school friends, Meg?” her mother asked, and the talk turned to safer matters.

  When they’d finished eating, Seth volunteered, “I’ll clear up. You all can go get comfortable.”

  Elizabeth stood up. “I think I’ll go up. But, Meg? You can stay and talk with your father. Phillip, she’s had an interesting day, and I’m sure she’d like to tell you about it.” Before Meg could respond, Elizabeth had left to go up the stairs.

  Meg was ticked off at her mother’s not-so-subtle nudge, although she realized she had no right to be—she needed to talk with her father about her conversation with Chief Bennett. Seth had conveniently absented himself to the kitchen. She had nowhere to run. “Let’s go sit in the living room,” she said, leading the way.

  Her father followed. “Do I infer that there is an agenda here?”

  “I keep forgetting you’re a lawyer. You’re used to looking for small clues in ordinary conversations.”

  Phillip sat on the long couch. “And?”

  Meg sat in an adjacent overstuffed chair. “I talked to Chief Bennett today.”

  There was a spark of anger in Phillip’s eyes, but when he spoke his tone was level. “What did you hope to accomplish?”

  “I wanted to tell him that I thought the three events of the past week could be connected.”

  “I hope you didn’t claim that that was my opinion.”

  “No, I didn’t. You might be surprised to learn that he was aware of my involvement in some of those events in Granford.”

  “You said events, plural. More than I already know about?”

  Meg nodded.

  Her father cocked his head. “Interesting—we’ll have to talk about those sometime. But your history may explain why he agreed to see you. How did he respond?”


  “Carefully. He was polite but no more. He listened to what I had to say, but he did not volunteer any information. I was in and out of there in less than half an hour.”

  “And do you feel better now?”

  Meg studied his face for any hint of sarcasm. “Not really. Look, Daddy, I’m not on some crazy crusade. I’m not using this as an excuse to avoid being alone with Seth—we’re good, and he supports what I’m doing. And I know that I have to end this at some point, but I’m not quite there yet. Just for the record, do you see any possibility, however remote, that your fleeting contact with the Mafia back in the eighties has anything to do with what’s happening now?”

  “No, I do not. Put that idea to bed.”

  “Fine, I will. See? We’ve already crossed one thing off the list. What’s left?”

  “Meg, I really don’t know,” Phillip told her.

  Meg felt deflated. “So we still have no clear reason why Enrique died and Arthur was attacked. And that ‘we’ includes the police. I told the chief I thought someone was looking for something. although that something may exist only in his imagination.”

  “I’ve already told you, Meg—I keep very few files on any of my older clients, and I can’t quite see any of the corporate titans I knew in the past running around bashing people now. I can’t imagine what anyone would be looking for.”

  “But somebody killed Enrique and hit Arthur—you can’t deny that. And I refuse to consider those two things as unrelated. It may be harder to fit the accident with the car into the picture. Say whoever it was knew that you’d be away from home, and that both you and Arthur would be out of your office. But Enrique’s murder and the attack on Arthur happened only this past week. Maybe the intent was to disable your car and make you stay away longer while it was getting fixed. He didn’t expect you to stick to your original schedule, rather than wait for your car.”

  “But what does this person want?”