“I wish I knew,” Seth told him. “It’s clear none of us is happy with doing nothing, but we don’t want to find ourselves in the middle of a major police operation. Meg pointed out that it’s my house and therefore I have every right to go in and check things out, but I’m not sure it’s ever completely empty, and I’d hate to go searching around poking through things, even though I am the owner.”
“Seth, that might even be dangerous,” Meg protested, “if you startled one or another of them. We believe they’ve already killed one person. And they might even make the case that they thought you were an intruder, if you go barging in unannounced.”
Seth shrugged, looking uncomfortable.
“Seth, are you thinking that more than one of the lads in involved with this?” Christopher asked.
“I really don’t know, Christopher. Maybe three of them. I don’t think Larry is part of this, but he hasn’t said much, beyond that he tries to shut himself in his room and ignore whatever is going on. Nor have we asked him. But selling drugs does not fit with his character.”
“Have you considered that he might have good reason to remain silent?” Christopher said carefully.
“What do you mean?” Meg asked. Larry was, after all, her employee, and if there was a problem that involved Larry, she should know about it.
“Under normal circumstances I would not share this information, but things are hardly normal now, are they?” Christopher began. “I recommended him to work with you after Bree left, Meg, and I have every faith in his capabilities and firsthand knowledge of growing apples. But I don’t know whether he’s talked to you about his own background, which is less than conventional.”
“It’s clear he has relevant orchard experience,” Meg acknowledged, “but you’d already told me that. He seldom shares any personal information. What else should I know?”
“His childhood was, you might say, unsettled. His family owned a small farm, which produced barely enough to turn a profit, even in the best of years. From what little he’s shared with me, he did most of the work on the place to keep it going. His father was a heavy drinker, who turned to drugs in his later years, while Larry was still living there. The father was, you might say, known to the police in the area, although I gather he was never convicted of any major crime.”
“What does that have to do with Larry?”
Christopher cleared his throat. “Rightly or wrongly, Larry might fear that he would be tarred with the same brush as his father, which means he might well have turned a blind eye to illicit activities in your house, Seth. He was in a difficult position. He is committed to working for you, Meg, and helping you improve your orchard, but I would guess that he would rather not make a fuss about something if he’s not quite sure it of yet—the drug business. Plus, he no doubt assumes that the police would see him as the most likely suspect, perhaps without regard to any real evidence and based solely on his family history. Maintaining ignorance may have seemed the best compromise, from his perspective.”
Meg chose her next words carefully. “Do you think he was aware of these possible activities before Jenn’s death?”
“That I cannot say,” Christopher said. “He does not confide in me, and what I’ve said is mostly inference. I cannot tell you whether Larry ever crossed paths with her, much less whether he knows who her killer was. I’m inclined to think not, because I believe he has a moral line that he will not cross, and killing someone, particularly a woman, falls beyond that line. Drugs he knows and understands to a degree, but murder is an entirely different category.”
“I’d certainly like to think so,” Meg said firmly. “He’s got some native smarts, so it does seem unlikely that he hasn’t noticed anything odd going on at the house, but I can see the dilemma he faces. I wonder if his interest in building the tiny house is something he sees as a way to get out of the house without offending anyone, including you, Seth.”
“But would he ignore Jenn’s murder? And what about the bullet shot at your car?” Seth demanded.
“What?” Lydia exclaimed. “Someone shot at you?”
“I’m sorry, Lydia, I thought we’d already told you. This is getting so complicated!” Meg exclaimed.
“I’ll give you the quick version,” Seth told his mother. “Someone shot out the passenger-side window of Meg’s car while it was parked in the driveway. We were inside the house. It appears that the bullet came from roughly the same location where Jenn’s body was found. But before you overreact, Art thought that the shot was meant to do noticeable damage but not hurt anyone. Again, a possible warning, and one that could be passed off as a misfire by an inept hunter. I think the shooter, whoever it was, wanted to reinforce the myth of the hunter, which would in turn reinforce the theory about how Jenn died. But since we know too much, among us, that didn’t exactly work—that shot made it more likely that Jenn’s shooting was deliberate, as was where she was placed.”
“Seth, I’m so sorry,” Lydia said.
“Why?”
“Because all this has nothing to do with you! All you did was rent out your house at a low rate, to help people out. They weren’t supposed to start killing people and shooting at you.”
“Mom, you’re getting way ahead of your facts. All this is theory. Maybe they’re all just ordinary rowdy twenty-somethings and this blossoming drug business in our backyard is all a fantasy.”
“Seth, we’re ignoring the obvious. We could just ask Larry,” Meg countered.
Everyone stared at her.
“Well,” she began defensively, “how else are we going to find out how much he knows? Look, I haven’t pried into his history because I respect his privacy—he’s my employee, not a friend. But circumstances have changed. I wouldn’t want us to gang up on him as a group, because I’m pretty sure that would spook him, and we wouldn’t get anything out of him. He works for me, so I should be the one to talk to him.”
“My dear, I was the one who recommended him to you,” Christopher pointed out. “I feel a certain responsibility, to him and of course to you.”
“And I appreciate that, Christopher,” Meg told him. “But I don’t want him to retreat like a snail into his shell and then disappear into the night, with none of this resolved. I don’t believe he’s done anything wrong, except maybe by omission, by not sharing any suspicions he might have. He may know something about drugs or Jenn’s death or he may not, but I won’t believe he’d stand by and do nothing if Seth or I, and by extension you two, were at risk.”
“And exactly what would you be asking him?” Seth demanded, his tone angry.
Meg turned to face him. “If he had noticed any suspicious activity among his housemates. If he suspected any kind of illegal activity. If he had overheard anything at the house that troubled him. If he knows what happened to Jenn, and if any of the other people in his house had anything to do with it. And if he trusts us enough to do the right thing, and not just throw him under the bus.”
“Well, that about sums it up,” Seth said.
Meg stared at him. “Are you being sarcastic?”
“Actually, yes,” he said. “This is ridiculous. We have a more than adequate police force only a couple of towns over, and we know they’re looking at all this. Are they stupid? Incompetent? Can’t you see why they would resent a pack of rank amateurs getting in the way of their investigation?”
“But we have information that they need to know!” Meg protested.
“Why do you assume they don’t already know what we know?” Seth shot back. “Just because they aren’t moving fast enough to make you happy doesn’t mean they aren’t all over this. We get caught in the crossfire, one or more of us could get hurt. What if instead of blowing out your car window they decide to go after the goats? Or Max? Or one of us?”
A thick silence fell as each of them contemplated the possible consequences. Finally Lydia said, “Shouldn’t you at least ask Art for help, Seth?”
“Mom, we’ve kept him in the loop from the begi
nning, but he’s getting shut out at the other end, and to be fair, investigating a homicide is not his responsibility. The staties think he’s only a local cop—what could he know?”
“And Detective Marcus? He is, after all, a homicide detective,” Christopher pointed out.
“Same story,” Seth said. “The narcotics unit is hogging the show. I suppose they have every right to worry about leaks. And if our neighbors here don’t have any big investment in equipment or production, they can pick up and move pretty fast, if they think someone has figured out what they’re doing. Look, I’ll take some responsibility for this mess. I didn’t really think it through. The house was sitting empty, and I knew there were people around who’d like an affordable place to live. I didn’t exactly do any research on their backgrounds. I just took it on faith that anybody who applied for a room this far from the colleges and jobs couldn’t exactly be troublemakers. Okay, I was naïve.”
“Did they apply as a group?” Meg asked suddenly. “Apart from Larry, I mean?”
“Maybe. I think it was sort of an ‘I know another guy who’s looking’ and I ended up with the three of them. But they didn’t actually present themselves as a group. And we still don’t know if they’re all involved—if there’s anything to be involved in. We may have blown all this out of proportion. Or we’ve all developed an inflated sense of paranoia and we’re seeing bogeymen behind every bush.”
“But Jenn is dead,” Meg said quietly. “And the evidence suggests it wasn’t a simple accident.”
“And we may never know who was responsible,” Seth replied.
“And this problem will all just go away?” Meg protested.
“Or the state police will make a big drug bust and it’ll be all over the news for two days, and then life in sleepy Granford will go back to normal. Minus drug dealers.”
“Do you really believe that, Seth?”
Seth sighed. “No, Meg, I don’t. Not in my gut.” He looked at the people around the table, one at a time. “Look, it’s been a long day for us, and now is not the time to make any decisions. Let’s sleep on it and get together tomorrow. Keep your eyes open, but don’t do anything. We’re playing with fire here.”
“It’s hard to believe,” Lydia said, shaking her head. “I’ve lived in this house for some forty years, and I never expected to encounter something like this. It makes me sad.”
“I know. But we’ll see what we can do about it. In the morning.”
Chapter 22
Meg and Seth didn’t say much on the short drive back to their house. Once home, they went about their chores equally silently: feeding the pets, walking Max, checking that doors were locked. Once that was accomplished, they found themselves in the kitchen. Too late in the evening for coffee, and neither of them felt like an alcoholic nightcap.
“What happened, Seth?” Meg finally said. “A week ago life was normal, happy, productive. Now suddenly we’ve found ourselves in the middle of a drug-dealing operation with a body in our backyard. What went wrong?”
“Meg, I think it’s been happening for a long time, out there in the rest of the state, or even the country. Granford was lucky because we got ignored—we were too small and unimportant to bother with. Now the whole marketing angle for drugs has gotten more strategic. When most people hear ‘drugs’ they think of gangs and big cities, not quiet rural towns. But the market is here, and people know that now. And the drugs are easier to transport and sell. We—you and I, and most of the people around here—just didn’t notice the changes.”
“And we can’t reverse it, can we.” Meg made it a statement rather than a question.
“I don’t think so. Come here.”
Meg walked into his arms and they leaned into each other, wordlessly. Finally she said, “But can’t we do something about our little corner, or is it already too late?”
“Meg, I really don’t know. Now that our eyes are opened, we’re going to have to think about it. Please, don’t do anything rash.”
“Like what? Walk into your house up the hill with a loaded shotgun and blow the baddies away?”
“That’s not the right way to do it, and you know it.”
“Yes, I do. But I want to feel that I’m doing something. Poor Jenn—that was probably all she wanted, to reveal the problem and maybe inspire people to pay attention and do something about it, although maybe with a dash of power and glory and public recognition for her. But she risked her life to get her story, and look how she ended up. How are we supposed to fight this?”
“I don’t have an easy answer, Meg. Carefully, I hope.”
“I’m going to talk to Larry. One on one.”
Seth backed away from their embrace. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Heck, I’m not sure of anything right now. But you heard Christopher tonight. I think Larry’s a good guy in a difficult position. Are you really afraid he’s involved in this?”
“I can’t say for sure. But we don’t know him well.”
“Christopher’s known him longer than we have. And you and I have both worked with him—me in the orchard, you on the house. What’s your read on him?”
“He doesn’t open up easily.”
“Seth, that’s evasive. Do you trust him? Do you think he’s honest? Or is he a drug lord in the making?”
“I’d go with the first two, but I’m not one hundred percent sure where his loyalties lie.”
Seth’s lack of commitment was annoying Meg. “Well, I for one choose to believe in him. That’s what my gut says. I don’t want to go through life mistrusting every new person I meet, wondering if they’re sincere or if they’re hiding something. I may be wrong some of the time, but I’d rather believe the best of people than the worst.”
“Meg . . .” Seth seemed to be at a loss for words. “I can’t tell you what to do or what not to do, and I won’t even try. But please, be careful? Having faith in people is a good thing, but if you guess wrong . . . I don’t want to lose you.”
“I know. Maybe I’m just clinging to what I thought Granford was, and what living here with you would be like, but all that kind of fell apart over the past week. I’m happy with you, Seth, but I don’t want to live in a bubble. I want to fix this, as far as it can be fixed. But I’m not some starry-eyed crusader either. Look, tomorrow you can talk to Art again, and I’ll talk to Larry, and then we’ll see where we are. Okay? Maybe the drug unit is doing it right and they’ll have it all wrapped up before breakfast.”
“We can hope. Upstairs?”
“Yes, before I fall over.”
• • •
Meg slept the sleep of the just, whatever the heck that was, or more likely she was exhausted by the events of the day and by the stress of their current situation. It was Saturday, right? Not that it made much difference in her current situation. Seth had promised to talk with Art yet again, and she was going to talk with Larry, armed with what she knew now. The bottom line was, she trusted Larry. He was unpolished and inexperienced in some ways, but he was a hard worker. Sure, peddling drugs would be easy money for him, but he seemed to be committed to farming and wasn’t looking for easy profits. And even if she was wrong about him, she firmly believed he wouldn’t hurt her, or betray her to the other guys at the house. He couldn’t have had anything to do with the shot that shattered her car window. Could he?
Larry came by about ten, looking for Seth. Seth told him, “I’ve got some paperwork to finish up, but why don’t you wait here? I won’t be long.”
“Yeah, okay,” Larry said, looking at his feet.
“You want some coffee, Larry?” Meg said, hating the chirpy tone in her voice. She sounded like some sitcom housewife from the fifties. But she had to admit to herself that she was nervous. “Sit down.”
Larry sat and waited silently for the coffee she had promised. When she’d slid a filled mug in front of him, she sat in the chair opposite. “Larry, we have to talk.”
“You’re firing me,” he said flatly.
“What?” he asked, then waited expectantly.
Meg took a deep breath. “Larry, you’ve been living in Seth’s house for a couple of months now, right?
“About that. Why?”
“Because there have been things happening this past week that really upset me, and Seth too. Jenn’s death. The bullet through my car window. They could be accidental, but I don’t really believe that. You’ve told me a bit about the guys you’re living with, but maybe there are some things you haven’t said? I know you don’t like to make waves, but this may be important.” Meg stopped herself from going overboard and saying it was a matter of life and death—even though it actually was. “What can you tell me?”
Larry looked down at his hands, clenched together on the table. Meg guessed he was wrestling with how to answer her, and she didn’t interrupt. Finally he said, “I knew Jenn. Better than I told you.”
“Oh?” That wasn’t what Meg had expected to hear.
“Look, I never knew many girls before I left the farm. I was always busy working. And I was a hick with crummy clothes and a bad haircut, and I got kind of average grades in school, and I didn’t play any sports, and I could never figure out what to say. So when Jenn started talking to me, a while back, I figured it was some kind of con. That she wanted something. Not that she was interested in me.”
“So what happened?” Meg asked cautiously.
“She really came on to me, and I didn’t know what to do. Then she told me she was new in town and didn’t have anyplace to stay, and maybe she could crash at the house? I told her there weren’t any empty rooms. And then she said, maybe she could stay with me? Like, in the same room?”
“What did you say?”
“What do you think? Yeah, she was a couple of years older than me, and I didn’t get any real vibe that she was into me, but I wasn’t about to say no.”
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