“Thank you, Art,” Meg said meekly. “I’ll try not to bother you again, at least for a day or two.”
“Yeah, right,” he muttered. “I’ll call if I get any further information. If I don’t, please allow me to enjoy a peaceful weekend with my wife. Deal?”
“Deal.”
When Meg walked back into the kitchen, Seth asked, “How’d it go?”
“About what you’d expect. What the heck did Art do with himself before I moved here?”
“Oh, lots of exciting stuff about missing dogs and tomatoes thrown at the high school. You have definitely altered the quality of his life. Did he have any practical ideas?”
“He said he’d ask his friend about the dosage Monica took—we never asked if it was enough to kill her. Other than that he more or less said we should leave him alone. What news on your end?”
“We’re a go for Mom and Christopher. Should we set a moratorium on any discussion of murder, in whatever form?”
“You mean, try to be normal? It’s probably not worth it. Do you think they’ll end up together, or just keep going along the way they are now?”
“You mean, will they want to get married? Or move into one or the other’s home? I have no information on either front.”
“Would it be rude to ask? Or should I leave well enough alone?”
“I pick Door Number Two. They’re adults, and they’ve earned the right to do what they want.”
“Got it. Now, what about food?”
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, that,” Meg retorted. “Either we should get a large freezer so we can stock up for occasions like this, or I need to find a cookbook that combines random foods and conceals them in a tasty gravy.”
“I don’t think Christopher and Mom will complain no matter what we put in front of them,” Seth told her.
“Too true. And I for one always appreciate any meal that someone else has cooked.” Meg went to the freezer to rummage around. Too bad she couldn’t use apples for everything, because that was all she had in ample supply. Apple soup, apple filets, apple burgers? She sighed, which she realized she was doing far too often these days.
She managed to cobble together something that seemed edible and smelled far better than it had any right to, and welcomed Christopher and Lydia shortly after six. They had decided to walk across the fields and through the orchard, despite the early darkness and rapidly cooling air.
Lydia hugged Meg when she walked in. “What a lovely night it is. So many stars, even this early. I swear I could smell a hint of spring in the air.”
“I’m glad you could come, both of you. Hello, Christopher. There’s no snow left, is there?” Meg asked.
“Not really, and it’s easy to see the patches of it, even in the dark. Something smells awfully good.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I have no idea what it is, but if I have to give it a name, it’s got to include ‘Surprise.’”
“Can I do anything to help?” Lydia asked.
“I guess you can set the table with me.” Meg wondered if Lydia had already guessed that she and Seth had an ulterior motive in asking them over. “Come on into the kitchen. We’ll let the men do man things.”
“For shame, Meg—you know we can do anything they can do, only better and faster.”
Meg grinned at her. “Yes, I think I’ve noticed that.”
In the kitchen, Seth stepped in to find drinks for Christopher and himself, then discreetly disappeared, leaving Lydia and Meg alone. “So, what’s up?” Lydia asked. “Murder or whatever’s happening between Christopher and me?”
“I knew you’d see through me. It’s Monica’s death. What you two do is your own business, unless you want to share?” Meg quirked an eyebrow.
“Nothing noteworthy as of this moment. But Christopher’s lease is up in a couple of months, which may precipitate some changes.”
“In case you’re wondering, Seth and I approve.”
“I figured as much. So, Monica. What’s the issue?”
“How much do you know?” Meg began cautiously.
“About what? How she died? She was poisoned, right? Look, Christopher explained what you talked about earlier this week, about the poison. He said you’d passed the information on to the lab, by way of Art Preston, and the lab reported it to the state police. So what’s the problem now?”
“A couple of things actually, although they’re related to that. Why don’t I dish up, so we can all hear this?”
“I’ll get the table set.”
Five minutes later they were assembled around the dining room table, with candles glowing in the middle, and a bottle of wine to share. “And what is the price we must pay for this delightful meal?” Christopher asked.
“I’m sorry,” Meg said. “We enjoy seeing you under any circumstances, but we’ve come up with some more questions since we talked to you on Tuesday. Please, go ahead and start eating—as long as talking about poisons doesn’t spoil your appetite.”
“Not to worry, my dear,” Christopher said. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Apparently you already know that the state police know that Monica had colchicine in her system?”
“Yes, they talked to me briefly about that.”
“Did they ask about Larry?”
“They did. I told you I would be honest with them.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t expect you to lie. Do they suspect him of having anything to do with all this?”
“That’s something they would be unlikely to share with me, under any circumstances.”
“Do you have any reason to believe that Larry would want to do harm to Monica—or anyone else, for that matter?”
“As I’ve already told you, he is a good young man. I cannot see how he could possibly benefit from murdering anyone. Do you have doubts?”
“No, I don’t. I trust your judgment, and based on what dealings I’ve had with Larry, I agree with your opinion of him,” Meg told him.
“So where does the difficulty arise?”
“It’s the presence of colchicine that runs through this whole mess.”
“There’s more?”
“I’m afraid so. I’ll explain in a minute. The other issue is, where is Larry? I told the police that I didn’t know, and they said that he wasn’t answering his cell phone, which is the only way of contacting him that I have. I’m not sure they believed me. But technically it was correct. I did not know where Larry was staying. I did not mention I had seen him quite recently, so I knew he was still in town.”
“And why would you be concealing his whereabouts?”
“I don’t know. Detective Marcus is not my biggest fan, and I suppose he’s just being thorough. I guess I’m afraid that if the state police bring him in for questioning, it might spook him. I need him here. Does that make me selfish? Christopher, do you know where he’s living now?”
Christopher and Lydia exchanged a glance, but it was Lydia who answered. “In fact, we do.”
“Mom! You’ve been harboring a potential suspect in a murder investigation?” Seth protested.
“Well, nobody has identified him as a suspect, exactly. The fact is, he’s been staying at your house, Seth.”
“What?”
“It was vacant, and he needed a place to stay. All quite innocent, until this other business came up.”
“And you didn’t tell the police? Even Art? Or me?”
“No, Seth, we did not. I know Art is a friend, but he’s also an honest man and he would probably feel compelled to inform the state police. While they did talk to Christopher, they did not ask him where Larry might be, and Christopher did not volunteer that information.”
“Why on earth are you protecting him?” Seth demanded.
Christopher responded, “Because he is a vulnerable young man who has few a
llies around here, and who is socially inept. I was concerned that the police would take advantage of that.”
“Does he actually have any colchicine?” Meg asked suddenly.
Christopher sighed. “I’m afraid he does. Or did. He retained a small quantity following his university experiments, and he meant to speak to you about doing some additional research with some of your trees—not without your permission, of course. He left it in your barn, along with some of his other possessions.”
Meg shut her eyes. “So you’re telling me that you two have been harboring a potential suspect on Seth’s property without telling him, and said suspect has concealed a potentially dangerous chemical on my property, without my knowledge?”
Meg turned to Seth, who after a few seconds started laughing. “If I had to guess, I’d say these two were trying to protect us,” he said. “This way we could answer in all honesty that we don’t know where Larry is and we don’t have any of that particular poison. You know you’re not a very good liar, Meg.”
“Precisely,” Christopher said, beaming.
Meg was surprised to find she was angry. “I appreciate your thought, but I’m an adult, and I’d prefer to make my own decisions about what I say or don’t say. I’ll let Seth speak for himself,” she ended stiffly.
Seth had stopped laughing. “I’m afraid I agree with Meg. I’m not saying we would run to the police and tell them everything, but I’d rather make that choice myself. I hope that doesn’t offend you. I know you meant well.”
“No offense taken, my boy,” Christopher said, his tone contrite. “We’re only trying to help the people we care about.”
Meg sighed—again. “I understand.” She stopped to consider, then decided she’d better get the whole story out in the open. “I said earlier that there was more to the story, and I think you need to hear it.”
“And what would that be, my dear?” Christopher asked.
Meg stood up. “I think we need dessert for this.”
25
Meg retreated to the kitchen to dish up dessert—a simple applesauce cake she’d baked sometime earlier and frozen. Lydia followed her, carrying additional used dishes.
“I’m sorry we didn’t let you know,” Lydia began.
“Don’t apologize, Lydia. I know you were trying to help. This is such a mess!”
“Murder isn’t supposed to be neat and tidy.”
“I know, but right now I’d give a lot for an axe covered with the victim’s blood, stuck under the killer’s bed, and covered with his fingerprints. All we have now is a whole bunch of maybes.”
“There was no blood, if you recall. Can you hand it all over to the police?” Lydia asked.
Meg set about slicing the cake, although in her current mood she felt like stabbing the blasted thing instead. “That would be the sensible thing to do, wouldn’t it?” she said bitterly. “Dump it all in Art’s lap, and he can take it to the state police and leave us out of it.”
“Then why don’t you?” Lydia said gently.
Meg pulled plates out of a cupboard, set them on the counter, and turned to face Lydia. “Because I know how the police work. Not that I’m saying they’re incompetent or they take shortcuts. I do respect them. But I’ve been on the wrong end of one of their investigations, remember? They go for the easiest solution first. And that’s understandable. What’s the silly saying? ‘When you hear hoof beats, you don’t look for zebras’? Why should the police look at anything other than the most linear, direct solution?”
“Which is what in this case?”
“I’m thinking Larry is the obvious first choice. He has a demonstrated knowledge of colchicine. Plus he’s an outsider, not from Granford, with a sketchy background. That’s two strikes.”
“But why would Larry kill anyone in Granford?” Lydia asked.
“That’s a minor sticking point. I’m just afraid that if the police get hold of Larry, they’ll stop looking any further. But my opinion is suspect because I’m his employer, which makes me guilty by association, and I want to keep him out of jail because I need him to work for me, which gives me a motive to cover for him. And I’ll admit it—my gut feeling about his innocence is not exactly evidence. I have no right to judge—that’s for the courts.”
Lydia was looking increasingly distressed. “Meg, what can I tell you?”
“Sorry, Lydia—I don’t mean to put you in a tough spot. I hate it that somehow I’ve dragged you and Christopher into this.”
“Christopher was already in the middle of it, as Larry’s advisor. And like you, I can act as I choose. It was my idea to conceal Larry’s presence, although Christopher backed me up on it.”
“So how do we fix this?” Meg asked, hating that she sounded whiny.
“Without digging yourself in deeper?” Lydia countered.
“If possible. We’ve already sucked Art into it. I hate to keep doing that, because he has to work with the state police in his job, and we’re just making life more difficult for him.”
“That is his job—he knows Granford. Detective Marcus should welcome his input when he’s faced with a crime in Granford.”
“True. All right, how about this? I feel bad because we’re putting Art in a position where he has to lie to the detective, or at least conceal information.”
“You mean, by not telling the detective where he’s getting his information—that is, you two? You think Detective Marcus is stupid? He must know. But he can’t admit that he’s getting tips from a couple of amateurs, so he has to at least pretend to get the details from Art.”
Meg stared at Lydia. “You know, you’re making an awful lot of sense. I hadn’t looked at it that way. You want to explain that to Art?”
“He’s not dumb, either. Meg, you said there was something else that you need to tell us. Is that part of this whole mess?”
“It is. Let’s take the dessert in and I’ll explain.”
Meg and Lydia ferried dessert to the table, and Meg sent Seth back to the kitchen to make coffee. “Do we need to wait for Seth?” Lydia asked anxiously.
“No, he’s heard all this before. He makes a good sounding board. The reason I think you need to hear what I’m going to tell you is because I think it points away from Larry. Christopher, what do you know about non-agricultural applications for colchicine?”
“I’m not sure I am aware there are any. I know that what Larry and others have purchased come with warnings about the hazards of using it because of its potential toxicity. You’re saying there are beneficial uses?”
“I am. Some doctors prescribe it for pain relief, as well as other rather specific ailments. Like gout. I’ve read that it is virtually the only medication that treats gout effectively. That’s why it remains available to the public.”
“You mean, in pill form?” Lydia asked.
“Yes, and liquid. Suffice it to say, it’s out there. And Ginny Morris gave me a package of it, told me it would be good for my aches and pains, if the standard OTC pain relievers didn’t work. She orders it in bulk, online.”
Lydia understood quickly. “So you made the assumption that if Ginny was handing it out like that, she may have done the same thing with Monica. With no evil intent.”
“Exactly. But almost anyone else could have obtained it, too. The tricky part is getting Monica to consume it.”
Seth slipped into the room quietly and distributed coffee, then sat down.
“Have you informed the authorities?” Christopher asked.
“I told Art,” Meg said. “It’s up to him what he does with this information.”
“Did you tell us his friend works at the lab where the testing is done?” Christopher pressed.
“Yes, they’re the ones who found the colchicine in her body. And then told the state police, which the lab felt they had to do.”
“Ah. Would it then be possib
le to determine chemically whether Ginny’s pills match what was found in Monica’s body?”
“In theory, I guess,” Meg told Christopher. “But I’m not sure Art can call in any more favors, and I don’t know if the state police would think to check.”
“What if there’s only one basic formula? Or the differences are so subtle that only some super-secret lab can figure it out?” Lydia shot back.
“I have no idea, Lydia. What if we come at it from the other side?” Meg said. “Find out how many other people in town have colchicine?”
“You think the police aren’t doing that already? They should have found the pills that Monica had—if she had any. That’s still an assumption,” Seth pointed out. “At least they should have checked for prescriptions, wherever she kept them.”
“True,” Meg admitted. “They wouldn’t tell us whatever they found. They’d probably tell Art. But would they interview everyone in town and search their homes? That sounds like a lot of work. But back this up a sec. Here we are sitting on a piece of information they may or may not have—Ginny’s stash of pills. Of which I now have a sample, which, if the police find out, could get me into trouble. And we don’t know if the police found any at Monica’s place. She might have taken them all and destroyed the package. She might have hidden it so well that the police couldn’t find it, at least not on a first pass.”
“You’re thinking that Monica might have killed herself?” Lydia said carefully. “With the pills that Ginny gave her?”
“Maybe. If in fact Ginny did give her pills, and then Monica went home and read the label and the warning about high dosages, and took an easy way out.”
“Leaving poor Douglas to cope? That seems so cruel,” Lydia said.
“I know,” Meg said. “But how do we know what really goes on in people’s minds? None of us knew Monica well. We don’t know how long Douglas has been sick, or what his prognosis is going forward. Maybe she just couldn’t deal with it. I mean, here she was, in an unfamiliar town, with no family or support network anywhere nearby. She was trying desperately hard to fit in and make friends, to make herself useful, but that’s not easy on top of everything else she was facing. I’m not condoning it if that’s what happened, but I can understand it.”
A Late Frost Page 19
