Nipped in the Bud

by Sheila Connolly

“How long ago was this?”

  “Three weeks ago, maybe. Something like that.”

  “So Jenn moved in with you and made it look like she was your girlfriend?”

  “Hey, it’s not like anybody talked about that kind of stuff. And there were people in and out of the place all the time. One more didn’t make that much difference. I don’t know if anybody was paying attention.”

  “So things were good, up until the time she died?”

  “Yeah, pretty much. She spent a lot of time talking with the other guys, but that was cool.”

  “So what happened when she was killed?” Meg was pretty sure that Larry hadn’t shared this information with Art, about Jenn the pretend girlfriend. But Meg could see that it made sense from Jenn’s perspective: she’d zeroed in on that particular group of guys as the linchpins of the drug traffic in Granford and nearby, and she had needed a way to get closer to them. Larry had provided the perfect patsy, but that also meant that Jenn had judged him to be harmless.

  “One day she said she had things to do,” Larry said. “She went out in the afternoon and didn’t come back. And Seth found her.”

  “Where were the other guys those days?”

  “They weren’t around—you know, job, classes and stuff. I was over here helping Seth, or in my room with music on, so I don’t know where people were. Meg, can I ask you something?” When she nodded, Larry said, “You working with the police?”

  “Kind of. Unofficially. It’s not the first time, not that I went looking to get involved with what they do, but some things have been kind of personal. And Art’s a good friend. But the Northampton State Police Narcotics Unit is leading the investigation at the moment, not Homicide, and I’m not their favorite person. Larry, do you know what it means, that they’re in charge?”

  “That there are drugs involved. I wondered when you’d get around to that.”

  “Because you knew there was drug activity going on at the house?”

  “I thought, maybe. But I didn’t want to get involved, so I kind of ignored it.”

  Meg nodded. “Larry, Christopher told me about your background. I can understand why you didn’t want to get involved. But did you know that Jenn was already mixed up in it?”

  “Dealing?”

  “No. She was writing a story for the Boston paper about the growth of drug traffic in this area. She must have gathered enough information to know that the other guys at the house were part of that, and she wanted to get inside. That’s why she . . .”

  “Came on to me,” Larry said flatly. “I never did think she was hot for me, but that was okay. And then something went wrong, right?”

  “So it seems. Larry, looking back, did you see anything like evidence of buying and selling drugs at the house?”

  “A lot of people kept dropping by, but they didn’t stay long. Some of them were pretty sketchy types, and some were pretty twitchy when they showed up. I’m not stupid—I figured something was up, but I didn’t really know anything. I didn’t want to, I guess. I wasn’t part of it, but I figured the police might have other ideas. I didn’t know if the police might come after Seth, since it’s his place. So I just played stupid.”

  “Did anything change after Jenn was killed?”

  “I told you, I wasn’t really buddies with the other guys. They’d say something like, ‘Tough luck, man’ and leave it at that.”

  If what Larry said was true about their response, it suggested that Jenn hadn’t blown her cover at the house—or the guys were good actors. “And you never saw any guns at the house?”

  “No. Not that I was looking or anything. Plenty of places to hide things like that there.”

  “Seth and I have wondered why Jenn’s body was left so close to the house, and this house too. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to leave her somewhere that she wouldn’t be found, or not quickly?”

  Larry shrugged. “Maybe. Unless they thought it would look like she got shot by a sloppy hunter who was afraid to come forward.”

  “That was certainly everyone’s first thought, but the evidence didn’t support it. Do you know much about hunting?”

  “Not really. My dad used to bag a deer now and then, and we’d freeze the meat. He didn’t pay much attention to the rules, or things like licenses.”

  “So you don’t know that this isn’t the regular hunting season now, at least in this state.”

  “Why would I? I don’t hunt. I don’t have a gun.”

  Meg nodded again. “What we think is that Jenn was probably shot a couple of hours before she was found, and then someone took her out to that patch of woods and fired off another shot to make anyone who might be listening think that was when she was killed. So whoever did it didn’t have a very high opinion of our local police—they probably thought they’d just see it as an accident, end of story. But that story didn’t hold together, for a number of reasons. Do you know where the other guys were that afternoon?”

  “We talked about that before. They were always in and out. I didn’t keep track.”

  “Nothing unusual that day? Did Jenn go out?”

  “Yeah, right after lunch, I think. I saw her car leave. Hey, anybody found it yet?”

  “Not that I’ve heard,” Meg said. And Jenn had never come back. But nobody had known she was dead—except her killer.

  There was one more thing Meg wanted to explore with Larry. “Larry, you told me a couple of days ago that you recognized the guy who came to my door asking about Jenn. Right?”

  “Yeah, I saw him up at the house. Never talked to him, though.”

  “Was this before or after Jenn disappeared?”

  “I’m not really sure—I wasn’t keeping track. I know he was around after, but he was like a lot of the other guys—stopped by for a while, then left. He wasn’t exactly hanging around talking.”

  “But it was more than once. A few times?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Why?”

  Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, Meg thought. “Larry, it turns out that the guy—his name is Justin—is actually a reporter for the same paper as Jenn was. We think he wanted a piece of her story.” Or more? “Jenn was more senior, better known than he was, and he was hungry to get ahead. But that doesn’t mean we can prove he had anything to do with her death. Maybe he was just following the same trail as she was. And I don’t want to accuse him of murder just because he wanted a big story.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” Larry said. After a long pause, he added, “What if he was involved?”

  “In what? Selling drugs?”

  Larry shrugged. “He was hanging around. So maybe he was selling to the other guys. Or supplying.”

  Damn, she hadn’t thought of that. Now she’d have to.

  “That’s a good point. Larry, will you talk with Art? Tell him the whole story? He’s a good guy, and he’s on our side, but the state police keep shutting him out because he’s just a local cop. I’m not looking to embarrass them, but I’d really like to find out what happened and lay this problem to rest. Are you willing?”

  After a long pause, Larry finally said, “Yeah. I will. You’ve been good to me, given me a chance. Besides, it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Thank you.”

  Chapter 23

  When Seth returned, Art was with him. Seth explained quickly, “Sorry, Meg, Larry—I gave Art a call when I reached my office, and we decided we should deal with our problem sooner rather than later. Larry, Meg told you what we were thinking?”

  Larry ducked his head. “Yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all everything, but I didn’t think I had much to tell. I guess I was just trying to keep out of the whole mess, but that didn’t exactly work, did it?”

  “Larry,” Art began, “Seth told me a bit about your family history, and I can understand why you didn’t want to open that can of worms. Maybe you’re right, that the state police would jump to conclusions and take the easy way out, but I’m not like that—which may be why they don’t like me much. I would
be grateful if you’d fill me in on what you know, and I promise I won’t take it any further unless it’s relevant to solving Jenn’s murder. Which, by the way, is my primary interest here, even though I’m not part of the investigation, since it’s reasonable to guess that she died in my town. I have no desire to mess with the drug trade around here and will be happy to leave that to the guys from Northampton. If that’s even possible, that is, because Jenn’s death is tied into it somewhere. Anyway, let’s just sit down and pool our information and see where it leads us, and we can sort out who should hear it when we’re done. Fair enough?”

  “Yeah,” Larry said. “Everybody says you’re a fair guy. And I know the guys at the house didn’t much like you—they were always worried that you’d bust them for making too much noise, or exceeding the parking limits, or maybe something else made-up, just to annoy them.”

  “I don’t work that way, Larry. You know, one thing nobody’s talked about is where these three guys came from, before they moved here. Well, first, did they know each other before they moved in together?”

  Larry shrugged. “I didn’t get tight with them. They seem to get along fine, but I don’t know if they moved here in a pack or just happened to end up together.”

  Seth held up a hand. “I’m partly to blame. I’m new to this landlord stuff and I didn’t think it through, so I never asked for an application or a credit check or references. Of course, they could have lied about just about anything, but they must have been really happy when I more or less said I didn’t care about those details.”

  “Well, you sure made things easy for them, but I guess I’ll forgive you. For now,” Art said. “Actually, what I was asking was where the guys came from. Another state? A Massachusetts city? Canada?”

  Meg, Seth and Larry looked blank. “Well, if it was Canada, it wasn’t the French part,” Larry finally volunteered. “No accents.”

  “Art,” Meg began, “we’ve talked before about why it looks like whoever killed Jenn knew something about weapons but not about hunting regulations or living in a rural area. You still think that’s correct?”

  “Could be. Might point to someone who’s lived in a city but was part of a group that used guns. Of course, this is only guesswork.”

  “Where are most of the drugs coming from these days?” Seth asked.

  “I’ve read the memos, so to speak,” Art told him. “Mostly north of here, I think. Depends on local regulations, and how hard the police in other places are looking.”

  “So nothing conclusive?” Seth said.

  “Nope. For the two guys who claim to be in school, has anybody checked if they’re actually enrolled and taking classes?”

  “That’s a bit beyond us, Art,” Meg told him. “But I bet Christopher could find out.”

  Art sighed. “Okay, how much do Lydia and Christopher know about this whole mess?”

  “About as much as we do,” Seth said.

  “Well, I guess it’s safe to say that they aren’t vigilantes and won’t take matters into their own hands,” Art muttered.

  “I truly doubt that,” Seth said, suppressing a smile. “But as I just told you, they did point out the increase in the frequency of visitors who stay for only a short while. That road at the top of the hill is usually pretty quiet, so they noticed the change.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it—it certainly looks like quick drug buys. But that’s not conclusive. And it does not explain why anyone at the house would kill Jenn. Even if she knew what the guys were doing, she was looking for a story, and she was in the ideal position to get one, up close and personal, if she was spending any kind of time at the house.”

  Meg interrupted. “Art, I think you need to hear what Larry was telling me before you arrived. Larry? About the guys at the house, but particularly about Justin.”

  Art looked startled. “Justin? The guy who came here looking for Jenn?”

  “Yes,” Meg said. “Did Seth fill you in on what we learned in Boston?”

  “That this Justin guy was a colleague of Jenn’s at the paper?” Art said. “Yeah, he did. And we know he lied to me, and then he lied to you. Or at least gave a made-up story. Fooled me. I should have been wondering why he thought Granford was a likely place to look for her.”

  “Do you remember when he lied to you?” Meg demanded.

  “Uh . . . after we knew that Jenn was dead?” Art guessed.

  “Convenient, don’t you think?” Meg added. “Larry, tell him what you know.”

  “This Justin was kind of a regular at the house. Seth’s house, I mean.”

  Art suddenly looked more alert. “Before or after Jenn was dead?”

  “After, or at least that’s when I saw him. But maybe once or twice before. Jenn came and went a lot. But she was staying with me. In my room, I mean.”

  “Something romantic going on?” Art asked.

  Larry shrugged. “Not really. She had her own car, and I’m pretty sure Justin didn’t show up when she was in the house—maybe he was watching to make sure she was out of the way. But he seemed pretty tight with the other guys, after.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Art said. “Jenn found herself a way to stay in the house—by bunking with you, I mean—that she probably guessed was a hotspot for drug selling. Did she talk to you about that at all?”

  “No. Maybe she figured I was too dumb to figure it out myself, or I knew what was going on but didn’t care. We never talked about it. But she hung out with the guys a lot, when they were around.”

  “And Justin knew her from Boston but you can’t say whether they crossed paths?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Larry said, then shut up.

  Art leaned back in his chair. “Okay, so we have one Boston Globe reporter who has somehow wormed her way into a drug house and convinced everybody that she was an out-of-work waitress just hanging out in this part of the world. And then we’ve got this Justin, also a Boston Globe reporter, who just happens to end up at the same place at the same time as Jenn but stays out of sight as long as she was alive. You think they were working together? Trying to get two angles on what was going on?”

  Meg shook her head. “I doubt it. Toby, the friend of my Boston friend, is also a Boston Globe reporter, and he said that Justin was all about Justin. He wanted to make a name for himself, and teaming up with Jenn, while it looks like a good idea in theory, would not have been his style. He’d want to claim all the credit.”

  “And you got all this from one conversation over lunch at a busy restaurant, from someone who didn’t know either of them well?”

  “Well, yes,” Meg admitted. “But I gather the bullpen, or whatever they call it at the paper, was kind of like a fishbowl, and everybody heard bits and pieces of information and could put them together. I think Toby—and probably a number of other people—knew that Jenn was working on something she thought could be big, although they might not have known what. And then she was gone for a couple of weeks. And Justin, who was pushy and acted like he was entitled, wanted a piece of it, and maybe he was smart enough to figure out what she was up to, but we doubt that Jenn wanted to share.”

  “And then Jenn died,” Art said flatly. “How convenient for everybody. No big story to mess up their drug operation.”

  “Yes,” Meg said. “Shot by an unknown someone who might know something about weapons, if that hole in my window is any indication, but who doesn’t know much about hunting and state regulations.”

  “It’s pretty thin, Meg. An awful lot of ‘maybes.’”

  “I know. But Justin lied. Not that that proves anything in itself, but if he had to lie about why he was here and wanted to talk to me, it makes me think there’s something fishy going on.”

  Art considered that for a moment, then said, “You sure it’s not because you want to believe that journalists are honest? Maybe he didn’t want to blow his cover, and thought he still had a shot at Jenn’s story? Now that she’s dead, the headlines might be juicier, and his name could be in big
ger print. If he ever writes the damn thing. Larry, did Jenn take any notes?”

  Larry shook his head. “Nobody had much stuff there at the house, and nobody locked doors, so it wouldn’t have been safe for her to leave notes or something around the house, in case anybody was looking. Nobody locked cars either, so she wouldn’t have left anything there.”

  “Did she have a computer?”

  “No.”

  “Carrying a computer around might have blown her cover, Art,” Meg said.

  “Maybe she wrote letters? You know, the kind on paper? And mailed them to her editor, or even to herself at the paper?” Art was looking increasingly frustrated. “If the editor has them, then the narcotics unit should know about it. They haven’t said a word, to me or Marcus, but that’s the way they’ve been operating from the beginning. So maybe the notes exist, but we’re not likely to find out what they say.”

  “Where’s Marcus in all this?” Seth said suddenly.

  “Got me. He hasn’t called or written. I feel sooo alone,” Art said sarcastically. “And here I’ve given him every juicy tidbit we’ve found.”

  “So where does that leave us?” Meg demanded. “We have a nice theory, even if there are a few holes in it. Where’s Justin at the moment? Is he staying somewhere around here? You know, he could simply commute from Boston—it’s only a couple of hours, and he could look like he was doing business as usual as long as he shows his face at the paper now and then.”

  “When was the last time anyone around here saw him?” Art asked. “Larry, has he been around the house lately?”

  Larry shook his head. “I’ve been spending most of my spare time here working on the tiny house, so I probably wouldn’t have seen him.”

  “But Toby said that Justin hadn’t been around the paper much either—we met at a restaurant, not there, just in case Justin saw Seth and me and thought something was going on.”

  Art sighed again. “Meg, Seth, there’s really not much to act on here.”

  “Art,” Seth said, “I own that house. I should have a right to inspect the place as needed.”

  “Any structural problems? Plumbing? Electric? Giant rats running around?”