Nipped in the Bud

by Sheila Connolly

  “It’s possible. I wasn’t really paying attention, but I’m pretty sure it came from the woods. Which means the shooter didn’t have to live around here, just know enough about the land to make his way through it without getting stuck in the mud. Although the ground is pretty well frozen this time of year, so even that wouldn’t be a problem. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  “I suppose. I don’t want to believe that we’re in danger from any of our neighbors, or that anyone else nearby is. Maybe I’m playing ostrich with its head in the sand, but I’d rather think that the killer came from somewhere else and chose this place because he knew it but nobody here knew him. Am I making any sense?”

  “I think so. In any case, I love it that you’re trying to protect your tribe here, or at least make us feel protected.”

  “That’s what we cavemen do.”

  Meg couldn’t resist smiling as she tried to picture Seth as a caveman. “Did Art say he was coming back, or did he have other people to talk to?”

  “I can give him a call,” Seth said, “and he can decide whether he wants to talk to our neighbors or settle for my secondhand report. Or maybe the state police have taken it out of his hands anyway, and we can expect a visit from them sometime. But let’s let Art get a couple of hours of sleep first.”

  “Good idea. We’re not exactly officially involved anyway, right? Just innocent bystanders?”

  “Unless you count that I found the body, and I certainly know the lay of the land in this part of town. Maybe I could sign on as a consultant.”

  “I’ll let you figure that out. Me, I have no standing here, and no experience with weapons or forensics.” Except, she reflected, that she’d encountered her share of bodies since she’d arrived in Granford.

  Chapter 5

  Meg and Seth armed themselves with more coffee, then settled at the kitchen table again.

  “I never thought I’d dislike having free time,” Meg said, “but I’m feeling kind of twitchy. There’s nothing I have to do in the orchard right this moment, although I’m sure Larry will give me a long list of tasks any day now. We’ve seen your mother, although I wouldn’t call it a social visit, exactly. But she already had, um, company anyway. Where do you think she and Christopher are heading?”

  Seth smiled. “This is my mother, remember. Are you asking if she and Christopher are likely to get married? Cohabit, or whatever it’s called these days? Or will they muddle along simply enjoying each other’s company when the spirit moves them?”

  “Seth Chapin, I swear you’re blushing!” Meg told him, laughing. “How do you feel about all or any of those options?”

  “Bottom line is, I want my mother to be happy. She didn’t have an easy life with my father, and I think after he passed away she enjoyed her freedom, up to a point. But then my marriage broke up—and I don’t think she ever really warmed up to my ex, Nancy—and there was the problem with my brother. And I guess it could be lonely up there in a house meant for a family, and filled with memories.”

  “But, Seth, what do you think would be best for her? Or for both of them?”

  “She’s a grown woman. If she wants to marry Christopher, I’m all for it. He’s a great guy—smart, interesting—and he really seems to care for her. I think they’re both of a generation that would stick to the conventional rules, so I assume that means marriage. With my blessing, and with Rachel’s too, I’m guessing. You okay with that?”

  “Of course I am. I like Lydia. I’d like her even if she wasn’t your mother. And of course I like Christopher. Without his help I wouldn’t be sitting here now, with you, and for that I’ll always be grateful.”

  “Well, I’m glad that’s settled,” Seth said. “Shall we tell them or let them figure it out for themselves?”

  Meg smiled. “I think they can handle it. I wouldn’t worry about them. So, now that we’ve taken care of their lives, what are we doing today? It’s too cold for outdoor house chores. Anything need doing inside the house?”

  “I’d rather not tear things up when it’s still this cold. And if you wanted to paint or varnish something, you’d have to open the windows.”

  Meg stifled a laugh. “Have you seen Camelot? King Arthur and Guinevere share a song, ‘What Do the Simple Folk Do?’ which fits us pretty well right now. We don’t know what to do with ourselves when we’re not crazy busy.” When she heard a car pull into the driveway and stop, followed by another, she added, “Maybe we’re about to get busier.”

  Seth stood and went to the back door and waited to open it. “Looks like Art and—damn, Detective Marcus.”

  “Well, we knew he’d be involved at some point, didn’t we? I’ll boil some more water for coffee. Remind me later to make a couple of batches of cookies to freeze for occasions like this.”

  Seth opened the door to Art and Detective William Marcus. Neither man looked happy, so this had to be an official call, Meg surmised. Seth nodded at the two men and gestured them toward the kitchen table. “This okay? We can sit in the dining room if you need more space.”

  “Seth, Meg,” Detective Marcus said perfunctorily. Apparently their relationship had not warmed up yet, Meg thought with some regret. “I hope this won’t take long—the kitchen is fine.”

  “Coffee?” Meg asked, feeling like a waitress. Surely she’d earned a seat at the table by now, but she always had the feeling that Marcus didn’t approve of her participation—even though it had produced results in his cases more than once.

  “No, thanks,” Marcus said. Art just shook his head.

  When everyone was seated, Marcus took the lead. “I have some information about the woman whose body you found, Seth. Please do not repeat this to anyone outside this room, at least for the moment. Her name was Jenn Chambers, and she worked for the Boston Globe as a freelancer. She was doing research on current drug problems in the Pioneer Valley for an article she hoped to write. She intended it to be a substantial piece, and she was investigating all aspects, including what drugs came in and how, how they were distributed, the importance of the drug trade in both the college and rural communities in particular, and so on. To avoid any misunderstandings, she talked to the state police first to alert us to her presence, and she agreed to share what information she collected before publication, although in exchange we agreed not to censor what she wrote as long as it didn’t endanger anyone. And she promised to give us a heads-up when it was going to run. She was a respected journalist, but her face was not well known, so she felt comfortable working on her own and posing as a newcomer to the community. Apparently someone saw through that, and that’s why she died. Or so we believe.”

  “She talked to you before she started investigating?” Meg asked.

  “No. She actually approached the narcotics unit first, since that was her primary interest. That unit alerted me to her presence and asked that I give her free rein. Of course, following her death I had to become involved, but the narcotics unit asked that I not release any details.”

  “Interesting. You’ve officially dismissed the idea of a hunting accident?” Seth said carefully.

  “Art has given me your interview and filled me in on your comments. Based on the absence of any physical evidence, yes, I have eliminated that as an option. But much as I hate to admit it, there is little more to go on at this time. Given the narcotics unit’s reaction to the news, I think we have to assume her death was drug-related, but I am not directly involved in that aspect of law enforcement, nor would Art be.”

  Seth nodded. “I see. I think. Of course Meg and I have been discussing this, and based on the topography of our properties, we wondered if it was possible that the woman was shot elsewhere and dumped here. If you look at an aerial photograph, you can see there’s a route through the adjacent woods that would conceal that kind of activity.”

  “You said you heard the shot,” Marcus said neutrally, without commenting on Seth’s suggestions.

  “Yes. Or I should say, we both heard a shot coming from the
woods, and when I found the body the blood was still wet. But even so, it could have been a deliberate diversion. Did your people find much blood at the scene?”

  “Possibly enough to support either scenario,” Marcus admitted reluctantly. “We have not located any vehicle that could have brought her or her shooter here. It is also possible that the meeting was prearranged and the killer chose this as an isolated location with few potential observers.”

  “Where was she staying?” Meg asked.

  “We don’t know yet. Nor have we found her car, assuming she had one.”

  “So the killer brought her here, before or after she was shot. Does that suggest that he knew this area? Or even lives nearby?”

  “We have not eliminated that.”

  Meg wondered what it would take to loosen the man up. Maybe she should spill a cup of hot coffee in his lap.

  “Have you found anyone who saw anything out of the ordinary?” Seth asked.

  “You’re thinking of your neighbors? No, nobody reported anything unusual. It was a cold night, and most people were at home watching some form of entertainment. And as you no doubt know, gunshots are not particularly rare at this time of year.”

  “Is there a drug problem in Granford, Detective?” Meg asked.

  “Compared to other local communities, it is relatively minor, but it exists everywhere these days, sad to say, and it’s growing. There has been a startling increase of opioid arrests and medical crises in the Pioneer Valley over the past two to three years, and that’s what this reporter was looking at. Why the surge now, why this area?”

  Meg looked at Seth. “I feel like I should apologize for being so uninformed. Seth, has this come up in Town Meetings?”

  Seth shook his head. “Not in any detail. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist around here. We’d like to think Granford is a bubble of innocence compared to the surrounding communities, but that’s probably naïve. But I will say that strangers tend to stand out around here. It’s not like we’re a tourist destination.”

  “You might be surprised, Seth,” Art finally spoke up. “Drug dealers aren’t all shady characters with black hoodies skulking in corners. It could be a schoolteacher who’s having trouble making ends meet and sees dealing as a quick solution. If he’s careful he—or she—could get away with it. Of course, kids have a way of finding things out.”

  “Have you talked to the high school students?” Meg asked.

  “Not yet,” Art admitted. “Detective Marcus here doesn’t want to attract any attention to this investigation until we have to. What kids can overhear, they can also let slip to the wrong people.”

  “I see.” Meg turned back to Detective Marcus. “Why are you telling us this, Detective?” she asked. “Apart from the fact that Seth found Jenn’s body and it was on one of our properties, or the next-door neighbor’s. I appreciate you filling us in, but what are we supposed to do about it? Logically, if there is drug activity going on around here, wouldn’t the dealers lay low for a while, until the murder investigation is over?”

  “It’s possible. There are a lot of factors involved. Or perhaps the dealers think everyone in Granford is an oblivious hick who wouldn’t recognize that kind of illegal activity even if it was happening in the supermarket checkout line in front of them.” Detective Marcus held up a hand before Meg could protest. “I’m not saying it’s true, but it may be what those dealers believe. They may have a lot of money at stake. Or maybe not. There’s a lot we don’t know.”

  “I appreciate that you’ve told us, Detective,” Seth said, “but as Meg asked, what are we supposed to do with this information?”

  “Keep your eyes and ears open. When you hold a town meeting, you can raise the general issue of drug problems in your town, without giving any specifics. I wouldn’t go so far as to call a special meeting, because that would tip our hand. Give us some time to investigate. Otherwise, go on about your business. I’m sure we all hope this will be cleared up quickly.”

  “Of course,” Meg said. Seth nodded his agreement.

  The detective stood up. “If you hear or see anything suspicious, please contact us. But don’t run around playing amateur detective—that could do more harm than good. I’ll see myself out.”

  As Detective Marcus walked out of the kitchen and out to his car, Art showed no signs of moving. Finally he said, “First, let me apologize for not filling you in sooner. Last night, in the dark and the snow, I didn’t recognize the woman, and as you know, I called Homicide at once. When I got hold of Marcus, he shut me down, told me not to talk about who she might be, and he admitted that order came from the narcotics unit. I don’t think investigating drug dealing is exactly his strong suit—he’s homicide. But reading between the lines, I think narcotics has a plan of their own, and they don’t want Marcus or any of us tramping through it.”

  “So Marcus doesn’t know what to do next?” Meg asked. “Who’s taking the lead?”

  “That remains to be seen. Okay, spill it, you guys. I’m sure you’ve already talked to your closest neighbors, a fact you didn’t bother to mention to Marcus.”

  “You know us too well, Art,” Seth said. “I told my mother and Christopher, because they’re bound to hear it somewhere and it seemed only fair, in the event they might be at risk. I also asked Larry if he had heard anything, but he said he had his headphones on while watching a movie and wasn’t paying attention.”

  “He’s living up in your house, right?” Art asked.

  “Until we build him his own.”

  “Oh, right, I think you mentioned that. You’re converting the old chicken house, right?”

  “Yup.”

  “That’s either a brilliant idea or the stupidest thing I’ve heard for a while,” Art told him.

  “Let’s just say he values his privacy, and he isn’t into material things. Someplace warm and dry with indoor plumbing will suit him fine, or so he says.”

  “Of course, it could make a great playhouse for kids, down the line. Nothing you want to share?” Art cocked one eyebrow at Meg.

  “Art, we’ve been married about fifteen minutes,” Meg told him. “Give us some time, will you? I promise, if there’s anything to report, you’ll be the first to know—after our mothers, of course.” She paused before adding, “You really haven’t heard anything about drugs around here?”

  “Rumors of kids smoking pot is about the worst I’ve heard. I’ll admit I’m out of my depth as much as Marcus. The world is changing too fast for me, or maybe I’m just getting old.” He stood up. “I’d better get to work, dealing with the important stuff like parking violations and littering. Now those I understand.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Seth volunteered.

  When the men had left, Meg continued to sit at the table, drinking her now-cool coffee and staring into space. She knew that Art’s question about having kids was probably on the whole town’s mind—most people knew Seth and liked him. So of course they’d be curious, and they meant well. But she and Seth hadn’t really discussed it—yet. She’d always thought he’d make a great father, but she wasn’t so sure about whether she was suited to be a mother. Her life had changed so much in the past two years, and she was still trying to settle into her new life. She had so much to learn about raising apples and running a small business! Where would a baby fit? Did she want to find out? And how long could she wait before deciding?

  Chapter 6

  When Seth finally came back, Meg was still sitting where he’d left her. She could have called it thinking, but maybe it was more like avoiding thinking. It always amazed her that one small event could alter the course of a life—or end it. One minute a presumably talented, experienced newspaper reporter was deep into a timely and challenging investigation, and the next she was dead from a single bullet. That fact was testimony to how important her chosen subject was—if it was worth killing for—but it was also a tragic waste that such a person should be silenced. Clearly it was important to a lot of people that this murder
be solved, but she wished it hadn’t happened. Some small part of Meg mourned the loss of innocence—the sense that Granford was somehow immune to the dangers that the rest of the world faced. But where would she rather be? The good citizens of Granford were engaged in their community—witness Seth’s participation in the Town Council, despite the demands of his own business—and hardworking and decent. Which might have made the town a good place for drug dealers and killers to lay low, because no one expected to see them in such an idyllic setting.

  Seth stopped to study her expression as he approached. “You look . . . I don’t know what. Depressed? Sad?”

  “I guess I am. I wanted to believe that Granford was a safe good place to live, to plan a life, but now I wonder if I was wearing rose-colored glasses all along. I mean, I’m an optimist. I lose my job and the fates, by way of my mother, hand me a working farm that included a place to live and a profession that challenges me. I mean, I’ve got a good education and a good professional track record—there were plenty of other things I could have done. I even planned to do them—you know, polished up my résumé, put together a list of people to network with. Yet here I am. Please don’t take this wrong, but you—falling in love with you and marrying you—had nothing to do with my being here, although it gave me another reason to stay. But the primary reason was that I chose to play out the hand I’d been dealt and see what happened. You’re part of the ‘what happened.’”

  “This murder has really shaken you up, hasn’t it.” It was a statement, not a question. “Which Star Wars movie was it where somebody said they felt a great disturbance in the Force? Not that Granford has reached quite that cosmic scale, but a violent killing of a stranger within our boundaries is profoundly disturbing to all of us who choose to live here. It does make us question our assumptions. But where else would you go? Where are things better?” He sat down next to Meg and took her hand in his.