One Bad Apple

by Sheila Connolly

  Seth looked relieved. “Shouldn’t be a problem, then. There are a lot of people around here who weren’t real happy with Chandler Hale. The detective’ll keep busy interviewing them all.”

  “I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized what a big thing this project was around here. I haven’t been here long, and I haven’t been paying attention. You’ll have to fill me in, after we take care of … all this.” Meg waved vaguely at the scene before her: police chief, ME, corpse.

  Seth stood up. “Meg, you’re turning blue. Why don’t you wait inside, at least until the detective arrives?” He peeled off a grimy glove and held out his hand. Meg took it and struggled stiffly to her feet.

  “Thanks, Seth, maybe I will. And maybe I should make some more coffee.” She seemed to spend half her life these days making coffee, but she wanted something hot, and it would give her something to do while she waited. “I can offer these guys coffee, right? Or would that compromise the investigation?”

  Seth smiled. “I think it’s a good idea—I’m sure they’ll appreciate it. Go on inside, now.”

  Gratefully Meg fled into her kitchen, and went about the mundane tasks of grinding beans and pouring water into the coffeemaker. She was so lost in thought that she was startled by a loud pounding on her back door a few minutes later. At the kitchen door stood a man she didn’t recognize. Art Preston and Seth stood behind him.

  “Ms. Corey? I’m Detective Marcus. I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  “Of course.” Meg opened the door, and the three men entered, taking up a lot of the free space in the kitchen. “Shall we sit in here?” The trio moved to her kitchen table, then stood there expectantly. Meg realized with a start that they were waiting for her to sit down first. “Can I get you some coffee? You must be cold.”

  “No, thanks.” Detective Marcus spoke decisively, and the others took their cue from him. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat, focusing on the detective.

  He spoke quickly. “The ME has suggested a possible identity for the victim, based on identification found on the body, and Chapin here has confirmed it.”

  Meg’s stomach unclenched; she hadn’t realized that she had been dreading looking at Chandler, dead. She’d have to thank Seth later.

  The detective was still talking. “Did you know Chandler Hale?”

  Meg folded her hands in front of her on the table. “Yes. We had a personal relationship when I lived in Boston, and we were professional colleagues.”

  “You a banker?” the detective asked. “Did you know why he was in Granford?”

  “I previously worked for a bank in Boston. But I haven’t been here very long, and I’ve had little contact with the rest of the town, so I was unaware of the development project until the other day, when Chandler showed up here.”

  “He came here?” the detective asked.

  “Yes, with his assistant. He said he was looking for the former tenants. He was surprised to find me here. We had dinner together Monday.”

  “Here?”

  “No, we drove to Amherst.”

  “So you two went out. What time did you get back?”

  “About nine, I think.”

  “And then he left?”

  “Yes, Detective, he did. I did not invite him in. We had a disagreement at the restaurant, and I asked him to drive me home. I didn’t see him after that.” Meg wondered if she should be angry about what the detective might—or might not—be insinuating, and she decided to turn the tables. “I assume you’re going to check if anyone saw him the next day?”

  “You said something about an assistant?”

  “Yes. Lucinda something, I forget the last name. We spoke only briefly. But she should know what Chandler’s schedule was on Tuesday.”

  The detective made a note, then turned his attention to Seth. “You installed the septic tank, right?”

  “Yes. It went in yesterday. I had a guy coming to fill the trench this morning, but Meg called to say she was having problems again, so I came over to check it out and found Hale.”

  Detective Marcus was silent for a few moments, making some more notes. Seth and Art shifted in their chairs but didn’t say anything. Finally the sheriff looked back at Meg.

  “Who else knew about the installation?”

  Meg stared at him. “I don’t know.”

  “Where were you yesterday?”

  “Here, mostly. Once the tank was installed, I cleaned up, had something to eat, and went to a historical society meeting in town after dinner. I returned about ten.”

  “Did you notice if the hole had been disturbed at all?”

  “No. It was dark when I came back, and I went straight inside through the front door.”

  “But you knew it was going to be filled in this morning.”

  “Yes, because Seth told me. Look, can I ask what happens now?”

  “We’re waiting for the forensic team. They’ll want to see the body in situ, and then they’ll extract it and process it. I expect they’ll want to drain the tank and look for any further evidence. Seth, you can get someone to clean it out?”

  Seth nodded. “Sure. Your team will have to tell us what they need. But it’s only been used for a day, so it shouldn’t take long.”

  Meg realized that the detective was eyeing her with curiosity. “Did you have more questions?” she asked.

  “Ms. Corey, are you sure you’ve told us everything about your relationship with Mr. Hale?”

  “Of course.”

  “You both worked in Boston in the same profession, right? Yet you weren’t aware of his activities in Granford?”

  “My bank in Boston merged with another one last year, and I was let go last fall, so I was out of the loop. Look, I was a municipal analyst, and he was involved in corporate projects. I didn’t have anything to do with real estate or property development. And we didn’t talk much about business even when we were seeing each other. Certainly not since.”

  Seth interrupted. “Detective, you can’t think she had anything to do with this. She wasn’t around that night—she was in town, with a bunch of witnesses.”

  The detective fixed Seth with a stare that Meg found hard to read. “You know what time he died? Didn’t think so. We have to look at all the possibilities. She knew the victim—we’ll be looking into that. She certainly knew that the tank was sitting there, open. The time frame is loose, and it’s unlikely that we’ll be able to narrow it down much. So we have to consider her. And you as well.”

  “Me?” Seth said.

  “You also knew about the tank. And you have a certain interest in the development project, don’t you?”

  “Fair enough. But we’ve been working on that in a public forum. Why would I want to kill the man?”

  “I can’t say. All I am saying is that we’re going to look into it. You can start by giving us a list of people who knew that there was a convenient hole in the ground where they could hide a body—and assume that it wouldn’t be discovered too fast.”

  Another van pulled up outside, and the detective stood up abruptly. “That’ll be the lab guys. Ms. Corey, I don’t have to tell you not to leave town, do I?”

  Where else would she go? “I’ll be around. You can reach me here or on my cell phone.”

  “All right. Seth, when’s your guy due?”

  “Anytime now.”

  “I’ll go check in with the team, and then they’ll let us know what they need. Ma’am.” He gave Meg a cursory nod, then let himself out the door.

  Meg, Seth, and the police chief sat silently for a moment. Art was first to break the silence. “Damn, what a mess—in more ways than one. I’d better get out there and do my duty. Seth, the guy’s got a point. You’ve got as much reason as anyone around here to try to derail this project. Not that I think you’d go so far as to kill anyone. But still, he’s got to check it out.”

  Seth sighed. “I know. Remind me again why I ran for office, will you?”

  Art smiled. “You’re a glutton for pu
nishment. Ms. Corey, nice to meet you. I just wish the circumstances had been a bit more pleasant.” He followed the detective out the door, leaving Meg and Seth alone in the kitchen.

  “What did he mean, you’ve got issues with this project?” Meg was trying to make sense of the undercurrents among the men.

  Seth met her look squarely. “As a Granford selectman, I have to consider the needs of the town. Heck, I encouraged bringing in outside investors. We need them. But it’s a big chunk of my land that they’re talking about. That didn’t become clear until we were well into discussions. So I’m caught in the middle. And then the project kept growing, and so did the part of my property they wanted. Marcus could see it as a motive. He knows how these things work.”

  Meg laughed grimly. “Funny thing—part of my land is affected also, although I didn’t even know that until the day before yesterday, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. And I suppose the detective could point to other motives for me. Maybe I’m supposed to be the jilted woman who killed Chandler for revenge. I just snapped when he showed up unexpectedly. Or maybe I killed him because he made unwanted advances. Or didn’t make advances but spurned my unwanted advances. Do I make a more convincing murderer than you do? Maybe you and I did it together. Or did one of us hire somebody else to do the dirty work?” Meg could sense hysteria bubbling up in her chest and managed to shut herself up.

  Seth gave her a small smile. “Look, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’ll see what they find when they pull out the body and clean out the tank. We’ve got a lot of questions to answer before we start worrying about how suspicious we look. Right now, I’d better get out there and do some damage control.” He hesitated, and Meg wondered what he wanted to say.

  “Yes?” she prompted.

  “Look, I can’t imagine that you want to stay here tonight. How about you spend the night at my sister’s? I think I told you she runs a B and B, and I’m sure she’ll be glad to have you.”

  “I don’t want to be any bother,” Meg protested. And I don’t want to pay the going rate for a room either. It had already been an expensive few days, and it would get worse if she had to find herself a lawyer.

  He seemed to read her thoughts. “It’s off-season, and if Rachel hasn’t got a booking by now, the bed’s going begging anyway. She won’t mind.”

  “All right, I guess,” Meg said. Much as she hated to admit it, she felt profoundly relieved that she didn’t have to stay in the house, at least for this one night.

  “I’ll give Rachel a call.” Seth went into the dining room to use his cell phone, and Meg cleared away the untouched coffee mugs while keeping an eye on the activities outside.

  He was back in under a minute. “You’re all set. Why don’t you let me drive you over when we’re done here? I can swing by tomorrow morning and bring you back. Okay?”

  “Isn’t that out of your way?”

  “It’s no trouble.”

  Meg sighed and said, “Thank you. That’d be very kind of you.”

  “Well, then, I’d better go out and see how the clean-out is going.”

  Meg watched him as he joined the rest of the men clustered around the hole in the driveway, and then she turned away. She didn’t want to see what came out of it. She couldn’t allow herself to think of that sodden corpse as Chandler, someone she had known intimately, someone she had once cared about. Whatever had happened between them, he didn’t deserve to die that way. And she didn’t deserve to have to clean up the mess.

  8

  The afternoon dragged on interminably. The light was fading from the sky before the various teams of people finished collecting whatever they thought might be evidence, and the body was bundled up and carted away. After the last official vehicle had pulled away, Seth reappeared at the back door. “Listen, you have any plans for eating?”

  Meg realized she had completely forgotten lunch. “No, I haven’t even thought about it.”

  “You look like you could use some food. I thought maybe we could stop in Northampton on the way to Rachel’s.”

  Seth looked like an embarrassed schoolboy, and Meg was touched. And she realized she was hungry. “Okay, sure. Let me grab some clothes for tonight, and I’ll be good to go. Give me five?”

  “Deal.” He smiled more openly this time.

  She made her way to the bedroom at the back of the house that she had been using since she arrived. Based on the out-of-date flowered wallpaper, she guessed that the sisters Lula and Nettie had staked out the two front rooms, and subsequent tenants hadn’t bothered to change anything. From the look of the back bedroom, there had been few guests. The room reeked of mothballs and abandonment. Still, it was reasonably clean and quiet, and it suited Meg for now.

  She sat heavily on the creaking bed, glad for the moment of silence. She felt numb. Chandler was dead, and all she could summon up was a combination of sadness and annoyance. Not exactly overwhelming grief. She had never met any of his family, and she wondered who the police would notify of his death— and who would actually miss him.

  Being suspected of killing him was unsettling. If it weren’t so personal, she would have found it amusing: Chandler’s last joke. She was the most law-abiding person she knew, and the idea of committing a murder, much less wrestling with an inert body, was beyond her comprehension. But how was she supposed to convince the detective of that? He didn’t know her. Nobody in Granford knew her, and they couldn’t vouch for her. And her Boston friends … would remember when she was with Chandler. What would they say?

  Enough, Meg! Right now she was tired and hungry, and those were things she could do something about. She scrabbled through the drawers of the walnut dresser, hunting for clean jeans and a shirt without paint streaks, then rummaged through the pitifully small closet and tossed the change of clothes, a nightgown, and some toiletries into a bag.

  Suddenly she sat down hard again, slammed by another unwanted thought, one that she had managed to avoid thinking about all afternoon. Was Chandler’s death going to put a damper on selling the house? Who would want a house where a murder had happened? Maybe if she was lucky it hadn’t happened here. Maybe the detective would find that he had been killed somewhere else. Unfortunately this would always be the place the body had been found. And then there was the community development project, which might or might not have died along with Chandler. How would local people feel about that? And if the project wasn’t dead, she might lose the orchard she hadn’t even known about a few days earlier.

  “Everything okay?” Seth called up the stairs.

  Meg shook herself. If nothing else, she had found herself one friend in town, and luckily he was one who was willing to help her. Of course, he might turn out to be the killer. How was she supposed to know? Still, she had a hard time visualizing Seth as a murderer—and how could her luck be that bad? No, she was going to consider him one of the good guys and hope for the best. For the moment, at least she knew where her next meal was coming from and where she would sleep that night.

  “Be right down,” she answered, and finished packing.

  When she headed down the stairs, Seth was waiting at the bottom, apparently engrossed in a study of the construction of the stair spindles. When he saw her coming, he nodded toward them. “Nice. Not the originals, but probably mid-nineteenth century. Looks like they upgraded the place then, added some fancy touches.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t really looked into it.” Feeling somehow apologetic, Meg collected her coat and her purse, and led the way to the front door and yanked it open. Seth politely held it open for her, which surprised her. Why are you surprised? she wondered. Plumbers don’t have to be boors. In fact, Seth kept surprising her. He was clean, courteous, intelligent, a whole list of Boy Scout traits. She was going to have to rethink a lot of her preconceptions about plumbers.

  “Hope you don’t mind riding in the van,” he said, unlocking the passenger door for her.

  “Not at all.” She peered over her shoulder at the mat
erials and tools in the back, neatly arrayed. “My, this looks almost like a workshop. You have everything right here.”

  “Pretty close. You never know what you’re going to run into, and it saves time if I don’t have to run back to the shop for parts.” He started the engine and turned on the heater. “What do you like to eat?”

  “Almost anything. I haven’t had a chance to try most of the restaurants around here, so feel free to pick something you like.”

  “Let’s head for Northampton, then. They’ve got something for everyone.” Before pulling out, he took another look at her. “Hey, I know you didn’t kill him. And from what little I knew of him, there are probably plenty of other candidates.”

  “I’m not sure that makes me feel any better. I mean, I was involved with him, for a while. Even if I didn’t kill him, what does that say about my judgment, if he was so widely disliked?” She caught herself. “Don’t answer that. It’s a stupid question, and nothing you have to worry about. And Chandler and I were over a long time ago, no matter what happened in Granford. I guess it’s just the shock of seeing him unexpectedly and then finding him dead. It seems so unreal.” Meg hesitated for a moment. “Did anyone say how Chandler was killed?”

  Seth kept his eyes on the road. “Apparently the old standby ‘blunt force trauma’—a blow to the head. That’s all they could tell for the moment.”

  “Oh. So he was dead when he went in?”

  Seth nodded. “Looks like it. I can’t imagine anyone could get him in there if he wasn’t. But don’t worry about it, Meg. Let the police do their job, and get on with your life. How are you enjoying your house?”

  Meg was relieved by his change of subject. “I don’t think ‘enjoying’ is quite the right word. Sometimes I feel sorry for it—people have done such tacky things to it.”

  Seth smiled, his gaze still on the road. “If you can tell that, you can see what lies beneath. And the place has good bones.”