Oh my, Meg thought. She hadn’t been expecting anything like this. “Rachel,” Meg began carefully, “I never thought Seth was violent. And I assume that he didn’t tell me any more about what happened because he didn’t think it was his story to tell. So thank you for filling me in, but it doesn’t change what I think anyway.” She sighed, and took another bite of her muffin. “What a mess! I thought I was coming to a nice, safe, quiet town, and look what happens! Bodies in the backyard.”
“Guess this wasn’t quite what you expected, huh? You haven’t found any more, have you?” Rachel grinned at her, relieved.
“No, thank goodness, but the ground is still frozen. Who knows what will pop up next? By the way, have you met Chandler’s successor?”
“No, but then, I don’t live here in Granford anymore, so there’s no reason why I would have. Why?”
“Just wondered if you’d heard anything, or if anyone had said anything, about Cinda.”
“It’s a her? You’ve met her?”
“Recently. I didn’t know her in Boston.”
“You don’t like her, do you?”
Rachel didn’t miss much, Meg thought. “No, honestly, I don’t. I just found out that she was Chandler’s next”—Meg fumbled for an appropriate word—“diversion, after me. But I don’t trust her, and not because she was carrying on with Chandler.”
“Why? You think she had something to do with his death?” Rachel asked, sweeping her crumbs into a neat pile.
“I’d like to think so, but I can’t prove it.” Except for the receipt , but Meg decided not to bring that up.
“Well, look at it this way: if she ends up dead, you’ll know it’s related to the deal and not to Chandler, right?” Rachel said cheerfully.
“Gee, that makes me feel a lot better.” Meg paused before adding, “Thanks, Rachel, for giving me the rest of the story. Not that I had any suspicions about Seth, but it does help explain why the detective seemed so set against me from the start. Sort of guilt by association.” Meg wavered before tossing out her next question. “Rachel, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, ask away.”
“Seth was married once, wasn’t he?”
Rachel’s expression registered surprise. “Yeah, years ago. It’s ancient history, and he doesn’t talk about it much. Why?”
Why indeed? As she shaped her next words, Meg realized that it might be another piece in the murder puzzle. “The person who told me about it said that the ex was carrying a torch for Seth. I wondered if she might have a stake in the success of the Granford Grange project.”
“I never thought of that. You’ve been talking to Gail, right?”
“Well …”
Rachel laughed. “It’s okay. Gail knows everybody, and she’s not a mean gossip. She probably thought you might want to know. Anyway, Nancy doesn’t stand to benefit financially, if this deal happens. The whole divorce thing was settled years ago, and she has no claims on anything of Seth’s. But I wonder …”
“Yes?” Meg prompted.
“Maybe she thinks that if Seth lost the land, and the shop, he might rethink this whole plumbing business. I mean, he got into it for a lot of reasons, mostly because of Dad, but if we lost the land, this might be a good opportunity to get out. I hadn’t considered that. Heck, I don’t know if he has. He gets so wrapped up in what’s good for the town, and for everybody else, that he doesn’t even think about what’s good for him.”
“What about you? Or Stephen? What do you think?”
“Dad left Mom a life interest in the place, but the property reverts to us kids equally. Or did. The guys, mainly Seth, bought me out years ago—that was the seed money for the B and B. Stephen still owns a share, and he’d probably be thrilled to cut and run. Although he’d blow the money in no time.” Rachel shook her head. Then she looked at her watch. “Shoot, I’ve got guests coming. Sorry to dump this on you and run, but I just thought you should know.”
“Thanks, Rachel. I’m glad you did.”
After Rachel pulled out of her driveway, Meg went back to folding laundry. The association amused her: Rachel had been talking about dirty laundry. Although whose dirt it was wasn’t quite clear.
Rachel’s story had left Meg unsettled, and also drove home the fact that there were far too many undercurrents in Granford that Meg didn’t understand. She puzzled about them as she did her errands: groceries, the inevitable trip to the hardware store. High on the list was a new ice scraper for her car windshield, and a bag of salt or deicer or whatever was politically correct for clearing walks. The last thing she wanted at the moment was a lawsuit from one of her steady stream of visitors if one slipped and fell on her property.
She was driving back to the center of town when she noticed Gail walking quickly toward the historical society building. Meg turned onto the side road and pulled up in front of it. Gail had noticed her approach and was waiting for her on the stoop, hands tucked under her arms. When Meg climbed out of her car, Gail said, “Hi! I was just thinking about you. I’ve found some stuff you might be interested in. Come on in and I’ll get it for you.”
“Terrific!” Something to work on that didn’t involve murder. If she was lucky, the only bodies involved would be those who had lived long, full lives and died peacefully in some other century. Meg followed Gail into the building. It was, if possible, colder inside than the last time she had been there.
“I put the stuff back here by the desk,” Gail said over her shoulder as she wended her way through the jumbled collections. “The boxes were actually in my attic, which is the only reason I could find them so quickly. Ah, here we go.” She reached down behind the rolltop desk and hoisted out a dusty banker’s box. “You want me to carry it out to your car?”
“I can manage. Is that it?”
“One more box. You’re lucky. The Warrens were good record keepers, and I guess Lula and Nettie never threw anything away, and whoever found this stuff gave it to us rather than just dumping it, thank goodness. You should have plenty to keep you busy.” Gail hesitated a fraction of a second. “How’s the murder investigation going?”
Meg was surprised to find Gail eyeing her speculatively. “I’m still on the suspect list, if that’s what you want to know. You worried about being here alone with me?”
“You’re no killer. Just dumb enough to get involved with Chandler Hale.” As Meg watched, Gail appeared to come to some sort of decision. “You might as well sit down.”
Meg sat, confused.
“You know, Chandler was … an opportunist, shall we say?” Gail began.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
Gail leaned back in her chair, which creaked in protest, and studied the ceiling. “He used all the means at his disposal to get what he wanted. And he was a charming and attractive man.”
For a moment Meg was puzzled. And then, as she put the pieces together, she was horrified. “Gail, did he make a play for you?”
“In a word, yes. When he first started sniffing around Granford, last year, he got in touch with a lot of people in town. Funny thing, most of them were women. Of course, women run a lot of the local organizations—the town clerk, the library, this place. Anyway, he’d invite a woman to dinner, purely for business, of course. Then he’d turn on the charm and pump them for information. When it was my turn, he wanted to know what I could tell him about any restrictions on historic properties that might get in the way of his project. I looked him in the eye and told him that if he wanted that information, he could submit a formal request through proper channels. He took it fairly well, and he didn’t bother me again. But I’m pretty sure he tried it out on some other people who were more, uh, compliant.” Gail looked at Meg to see how she was taking it. “Can’t say I wasn’t tempted, though. I love my husband, but Chandler was … well, sort of glamorous, at least by local standards. And he could make you feel special. Heck, I don’t have to tell you that, do I? He was a piece of work, though.”
Meg was getting angrie
r and angrier at dead Chandler. First Frances, and now Gail? How could she have been so blind to what a rat he was? A self-serving, egocentric, arrogant … “Believe me, I know what you mean. But I guess I had never realized how manipulative he could be. Maybe I should be happy he dumped me when he did.”
“Yeah, I’d say you got lucky. So it really was a coincidence, you two ending up in Granford?”
“Cross my heart. But he did pull the same stunt on me— asking me to nose around town and see what I could find out— and I told him to forget it. He wasn’t happy about that. He was used to me saying ‘yes’ to him.”
“Good for you! Anyway, I don’t know if this has anything to do with his murder, but there could be a lot of women around here who fell for his line. Maybe there’s a local husband who wasn’t too happy about it.”
“Great. Maybe I should fill the detective in and see if I can get him to pay attention to anyone beyond me. Or me and Seth.”
“He’s still playing that tune? He’s a stiff-necked idiot.” Gail glanced at her watch and stood up quickly. “Hey, I’ve got to pick up my daughter at basketball practice. Why don’t I take one box and you take the other one?”
Meg grabbed the handles on one box to lift it and was surprised by its heft. “What the heck is in here? It weighs a ton.”
Gail lifted hers much more easily. “Old paper, mostly. A few books, diaries or ledgers, most likely. All a lot denser than the modern stuff. Go ahead—I’ll follow you out.”
Meg concentrated on carrying the bulky box without tripping over anything, and sighed with relief when she made it to her car. She popped the trunk open and settled her box in it; Gail slid the second one alongside it.
“Good luck with the papers. I hope you find something useful. I’ll see you at the meeting Monday?”
“I’ll be there. Thanks, Gail.”
Driving the short distance back to her house, Meg noted that living around here seemed to spawn hearty women: Frances shoveling her own walks, Gail slinging loaded file boxes around as though they were empty. Meg had a lot of catching up to do. But as she pulled into her driveway, another thought crept in: a strong woman could move a body. She had trouble visualizing Cinda hauling a body around, but it was far easier to picture Gail or Frances, or even Rachel, doing it. It was a disturbing thought.
24
Back inside, Meg decided to use the remaining day-light hours to tackle the front room across the hall from the parlor, a space she had managed to avoid so far. Its windows faced the street and the orchard, although the orchard wasn’t visible from the lower floor. In fact, not much at all was visible, since years of dirt covered the wavy antique panes. If she hoped to do anything in the room, she would have to clean the glass first.
It was when she was scrubbing the side windows that she noticed activity at the top of the ridge. She stopped to watch the group: a woman and three men—no, four. Unlikely though it seemed, the woman appeared to be Cinda, elegantly clad in a long tailored coat and high leather boots with heels. Not the ideal choice for standing out in the open on a cold February day, and although most of the snow had melted, it had left behind mud. Cinda had apparently opted for form over function.
But what were they doing there? Meg felt a spurt of annoyance. Cinda could at least have asked her permission. After all, it was still her land. And who were her companions? The men were making sweeping gestures in all directions. Surveyors? Planners?
She damn well was going to find out. Meg went to the hall and pulled on her boots and her down jacket. No time for niceties like clean clothes and makeup. But she was in the right here, and she didn’t appreciate visitors—aka trespassers—on her property.
By the time she approached the group at the top of the hill, Meg’s anger had swelled. Cinda spotted her first.
“Why, Meg, we were just talking about you.” She beamed, but her eyes were wary.
“Cinda,” Meg said, without smiling, “what brings you here? And who are your, uh, friends?”
Before answering, Cinda turned to her companions. “This is Meg Corey, the current owner of this property. Meg, we were just looking at the lay of the land, so to speak, and I’m sure you’ll be interested. Jack, could you give her the rough outlines of the project?”
“Glad to. Ms. Corey, good to meet you. Nice piece of ground you’ve got here.” Jack shook Meg’s hand with enthusiasm. “We’re looking to clear from the corner of County Line Road and Route 202, back to about here, following the ridge line. Sure, there’s a bit of a slope, but we can do some terracing in the parking lot. Actually, that might help our drainage situation—don’t want the lot to ice over in winter, do we?”
How dare he? That was Meg’s first thought, her anger blossoming. The town hadn’t even approved the deal, and this jerk was already laying asphalt over her orchard. She struggled to speak calmly. “Excuse me, Jack, but the project hasn’t been approved yet. Aren’t you being a little premature?”
A flicker of doubt appeared in Jack’s eyes, and he looked briefly at Cinda. “Way I understood it, it’s pretty much a done deal. All over but the paperwork.”
Cinda looked nervous. “Well, Jack, that might be overstating it a little, but things look pretty good. Right, Meg?”
Meg declined to answer Cinda’s question. “Jack, what’s your interest here? And these other men? Do they work for you?”
“Tri-County Asphalt and Paving—that’s my company. Biggest paving contractor in this end of the state.” He fished in his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. “I could give you a good deal on your driveway down there—looks like you could use some help with it. We’re bidding on the job, just wanted to get a look at what we’d be dealing with. It’s not the same, looking at a map.”
Cinda was still looking at Meg with concern. “Meg, this is still preliminary. But I’m just thinking ahead. It’s important to get in touch with local suppliers, let them know what’s in the pipeline, so they can plan ahead. That way, everybody benefits, and we can get the project rolling quickly. Right, Jack?”
“Yes, ma’am. I guarantee we’ll do a good job for you.” Jack smiled down at Cinda, clearly besotted. And his verb tense didn’t escape Meg: he was talking as if he knew he had a lock on the contract. Who else had Cinda been talking to? She was making it plain that this project was a sure thing, wasn’t she?
“You didn’t introduce me to these other gentlemen, Cinda,” Meg said, her voice level.
“Oh, sorry—where are my manners? This is Al Kozinski— he’s a general contractor, does a lot of work on commercial projects around here.”
A second man stepped forward to shake Meg’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. We did that pretty little strip this side of Hadley—maybe you’ve seen it?”
Cinda pressed on. “And this is Irv Janssen—he supplies building materials. And he’s promised us a very good price. Right, Irv?”
“Sure thing. Good to meet you, ma’am,” he said to Meg, taking her hand in turn. “Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of you over the next year or two.”
Meg managed to produce an insincere smile. “Perhaps. Cinda, may I have a word with you?”
“Of course. Excuse me, gentlemen?” She looped her arm through Meg’s and walked a few paces away. “Problem?”
Meg extricated her arm. “Yes, I do have a problem. I don’t appreciate that you’re already dragging a construction crew around and that you didn’t even ask my permission to come onto my property. As far as I know, there is no guarantee that this proposal of yours is going to pass, and I’d prefer if you waited until it does to start rolling asphalt.”
Cinda’s gaze was cool, and Meg wondered if she saw lurking hostility in it. “I’m sorry, Meg. Perhaps I overstepped my bounds. And you are certainly within your rights. But I thought you were in favor of this going forward?”
Meg looked her squarely in the eye. “Cinda, I haven’t decided. There are a lot of factors I have to consider, and I don’t intend to be rushed into a decision.�
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When she responded, Cinda’s voice was edged with contempt. “Frankly, Meg, I don’t think your one vote is going to make a lot of difference. I believe we have the votes we need. Chandler and I laid the groundwork carefully for this, believe me. But we’re almost done here. And let me tell you—we will be back next week.” Cinda turned away from Meg and rejoined the group of men. They were clustered awkwardly, stamping their feet to keep warm, and they avoided looking at Meg. “Gentlemen, you said something about access roads?” Cinda said brightly.
The men wavered, unsure of what was happening. But apparently they answered to Cinda, not Meg, and after nodding silently to Meg, they turned back to Cinda and began pointing toward the distant highway.
Meg’s anger continued to simmer. Cinda had just insulted her in front of her cadre of builders. Unfortunately, Cinda was right: if the town approved the project, they’d be back with their backhoes and dump trucks as soon as the paperwork cleared. Spring was coming, and they’d want to start construction as soon as possible. And the apple trees would never bloom again.
Depression washed over her. Meg turned abruptly and went back down the hill. When she reached the front of her house, she was surprised to find a Chapin Plumbing truck in the driveway, but it was Stephen who was leaning against it, waiting for her, rather than Seth.
“Hi, Stephen. What’s up?”
Stephen took a bite of the apple he was eating, chewed, and swallowed it before answering. “Seth said he left a sink in your barn—he thinks he’s got a buyer for it. Asked me to pick it up.”
“Oh, right, I’d forgotten. Sure, but I’ll have to get the key to the barn padlock. It’s inside.”
One Bad Apple Page 20
