by Gin Jones
"I'm afraid so," Helen said. "They're looking for the key to the bulldozer. They seem to think it's somewhere in the community garden."
"Talk about a needle in a haystack," Jack said. "Two acres is a lot of ground to search for a key."
"It may not even be there," Helen said. "A smart killer would have taken it with him to dispose of, not simply buried it in a shallow grave near the scene of the crime. That's assuming it wasn't premeditated, of course, or he'd have avoided getting his fingerprints on it, so he could have left it in the ignition or put it in Sheryl's pocket."
"So you don't think it was premeditated?"
"It seems unlikely. But I really don't know. I've barely come to terms with the idea that it was murder instead of an accident." Unlike Peterson, Helen wasn't afraid to admit she didn't have enough information to start blaming people for things they might not have done. "I'm worried though that the police will focus on Dale Meeke-Mason. Peterson has something against her, and I heard she has a criminal record."
Jack laughed. "I guess you could call it that. Dale would consider it more of a résumé or a list of her achievements."
"What exactly is her record for?"
"Civil disobedience."
Helen had risked arrest herself in the past by ignoring Peterson's warnings to stay out of his investigations. Of course, she hadn't really believed he'd lock her up. Dale might never have expected anything bad to happen to her either. After all, civil disobedience ran the gamut from chanting a few slogans to facing down police in riot gear. "Just how serious were her run-ins with the law?"
"Serious enough," Jack said. "She's been getting herself arrested at protests and occupations since before she was in the army. In fact, that's part of why she enlisted. She'd just turned eighteen when she went to an event that got a bit rowdy, and dozens of people got arrested. I think it was the first time she was charged as an adult, and the judge gave her the choice of jail time or enlistment. Everyone figured the army stint would make her more of a conformist, but she'd barely been out of the army for a month when she joined a protest and chained herself to the gate of a nuclear plant. That time, she did serve a few days of jail time."
Helen had grown used to Jack having the inside scoop on the residents of Wharton, but he didn't usually know quite as many of the details about the people who weren't his relatives. "How do you know so much about Dale? Is she another one of your cousins?"
"Nothing like that. But we sort of went to school together. She's a few years older than I am, and she probably didn't know me back then, but everyone knew her. She was always making a lot of noise, championing some cause or another."
"I thought she was mostly interested in environmental issues."
"Overall, that's always been true, but she usually has a pet project, sees it through to whatever point she deems acceptable, and then moves on to another one. A couple of years ago, she was really into recycling, and once the town adopted a curbside pick-up program, she moved on to the laundry thing. Now that most of the local homeowners associations around here have already amended their bylaws to allow outdoor laundry lines, she's ripe for a new cause. If those Jersey barriers don't come down soon, Dale's going to see it as a declaration of war."
Helen hoped it wouldn't come to that. And she hoped even more fervently that Dale hadn't already started the war over the garden by ambushing and killing Sheryl.
* * *
Adam Bancroft had hired an assistant since the last time Helen had been to the office. Behind a nameplate that read Spencer Nagel was a young man, closer to Adam's age than her own, in a pale linen jacket and a cobalt blue silk shirt that perfectly matched his eyes. Both Tate and Adam were good-looking men, but Spencer put them to shame with his dark curls, square jaw, and a pronounced dimple in his chin. He wore a Bluetooth headset the same color as his shirt and eyes, and he was speaking into it as Helen arrived.
He ended his call and said, "You must be Helen Binney. You can go on back. Adam's expecting you."
Helen thanked him and headed down the hallway to the smaller of the two offices in the building. Adam still hadn't completely adjusted to being the sole owner of the practice and hadn't moved into the larger space that used to be Tate's.
Helen had met most of Tate's extended family last Christmas, and it had been easy to tell at a glance who was a blood relative and who had married into the family. All of Tate's siblings were tall and lean with dark hair and long, rectangular faces. His nephew Adam Bancroft was almost a dead ringer for Tate, except for the lack of gray patches in his hair. Judging by Adam's constantly tense posture, Helen had a feeling that his hair was likely to be solidly gray before his uncle's was. In addition to looking like Tate, Adam had followed the same career path, attending the same law school and then taking over the practice when his uncle retired last year.
Adam looked up from the papers on his desk. "Come on in, and have a seat."
"Thanks for seeing me so quickly." Helen settled into one of the leather chairs that were far more comfortable than the director's chairs she'd used when first consulting Tate in her garage. "You must be busy if you finally broke down and hired a receptionist."
"Not all that busy," Adam said. "I couldn't afford a full-time receptionist for such a small practice, but Spencer's a jack of all trades. He's got a paralegal certificate, and he's willing to work for what I can afford to pay as long as I'm flexible with his hours. He came back to Wharton to help his parents through some health issues."
"Sounds like the perfect employee for you."
"It's working out so far," Adam said. "So, what can I do for you today? I heard about your latest dead body. You know I'm not as much of an expert in criminal law as my uncle is, right?"
"I'd rather not talk to Tate right now."
"You two having a tiff?" Adam didn't have his uncle's poker face, and his amusement was easy to read.
Helen raised her eyebrows. "So there's never been a moment when you needed some time away from Lily? Or she from you?"
Adam shook his head. "It's more a matter of not being able to spend enough time together. Long-distance relationships can be challenging."
That was the first time Helen had ever heard Adam acknowledge that being with Lily was anything less than perfect. "Is something wrong between you two?"
"I didn't think so, but we usually text every few hours, and I haven't heard from her in more than a day. And she's not returning my calls." Adam's face held both anxiety and confusion. "She didn't say anything about being off the grid, and she seemed fine the last time we talked. I don't think I did anything to upset her. Or if I did, I can't figure out what it could be. I'm starting to wonder if something happened to her."
Normally, Helen would have thought Adam was simply doing what he did best—imagining worst-case scenarios when there was a much simpler and less catastrophic explanation. In this case, though, he might not be getting ahead of the facts. Lily was usually good about staying in touch. Too good for Helen's taste sometimes since Lily acted like a helicopter parent instead of a niece, expecting to know and control every aspect of Helen's life.
Now that Adam mentioned it, though, Helen realized she hadn't heard from Lily in the last day or so either. Not even the usual check-in to confirm that Rebecca had stopped by the cottage as scheduled yesterday. Helen had been too distracted by the garden and the murder to notice until now.
"I'm sure Lily's just busy. A lot of her clients need extra hand-holding this time of year."
Adam nodded, but the tension in his face didn't fade. "If you talk to her, would you let me know she's okay?"
"Of course," Helen said, making a mental note to be the one to initiate contact with her nieces for once. She'd just have to hope the issue of accidents that turned out to be murder didn't come up.
"I'm sure you're not here to talk about our respective family members," Adam said. "What can I do for you today?"
"It's about the community garden."
"I thought as much," Adam s
aid, sorting through a stack of files on his desk. "Do you want to read Fred Lawson's will? I got a copy of it for another client."
Probably Dale Meeke-Mason. Adam probably couldn't confirm it, due to client confidentiality, but Helen suspected that Dale wasn't relying exclusively on her behind-the-scenes negotiating or her political activism to make sure the town did what she considered the right thing with the land. She was undoubtedly checking her legal options too.
"Perhaps it would be better if you gave me a summary of the will. I wouldn't know what to look for in all the legalese."
"Sure." Adam opened the file he'd settled on. "It's pretty basic. The usual stuff about being of sound mind, and then there's the one specific bequest of the land. Here, let me read it to you. I give, devise, and bequeath any and all land owned by me and located in Wharton, Massachusetts to the town of Wharton. And then the next paragraph provides for the remainder of his estate to go to the American Cancer Society."
"That seems pretty straightforward."
"It is, if you don't know all the circumstances," Adam said. "When you factor in the history of the land's use, though, the language becomes ambiguous, and we need to figure out exactly what the decedent wanted. That's one of the challenges of estate planning. The client doesn't always know what's important when describing a bequest, and the lawyer doesn't always know the right questions to ask. It's possible that Fred had intended to have the land be used exclusively as a community garden, but all he said to the lawyer was that he wanted to donate the land to the town. Fred might not have thought to mention that the land was for a particular use, and the lawyer hadn't known that there was anything special about the property, so he'd just written a simple bequest without any restrictions on it."
"Then how do we prove that Fred Lawson wanted it used as a garden?"
"It wouldn't be easy," Adam warned. "It would probably require a trial, and that could be expensive."
Helen doubted Dale could afford the retainer. It might be possible to raise the funds from the garden club, but that would take too long. "I'd be willing to foot the bill if you think we have a reasonable chance of winning."
"I'm not sure I can even promise you that." Adam leaned back in his chair. "Plus, it could take years. You've probably read or at least heard about Dickens's Bleak House and the probate dispute that went on for generations. Getting a decision on the Lawson will wouldn't take that long, but it would definitely take more than a year, and could be as much as five."
"The garden can't be in limbo that long," Helen said. "Did you know that Detective Peterson has put up Jersey barriers to keep the gardeners out?"
"I can't imagine that would do much to deter them. I understand that their leader is known for her civil disobedience." Adam leaned forward, scowling much like Tate did whenever Helen wanted to do anything the least little bit interesting. "My uncle would never forgive me if I didn't warn you against taking the law into your own hands."
"I'm not planning on storming the barricades." Still, she couldn't help the little thrill she felt at knowing she could do it if she wanted now that she didn't need her cane all the time. "Hey, maybe that's how we can get the Jersey barriers taken down. They can't possibly be consistent with the Americans with Disabilities Act."
"I'm not an expert in ADA claims," Adam said slowly, "but what I do know is that we'd need to show that the town is preventing you from participating in the mainstream of American society. I'm not sure how being kept out of a crime scene would qualify."
"They're keeping me from the community garden that I paid my dues to use. And what could be more mainstream in American society these days than civil disobedience? Everyone should have the right to protest peacefully, but not everyone can climb onto or over the barriers to join in the protests. All we'd be asking for is access to the majority of the garden that isn't really part of the crime scene."
"It's a novel theory," Adam said, "but not one I'd be able to say with a straight face in court."
"Tate would have just told me I was being crazy."
"My uncle is retired and can say things like that," Adam said. "I've got overhead, including my new employee, so I can't scare off the paying clients."
"I don't scare easily."
"Good." Adam closed the file with Fred Lawson's will. "Unfortunately, I don't think there's much I can do for you, at least not in the short term. I'd be glad to file an appearance in probate court if you want, just to keep the will from being approved administratively. That would also keep open the option of filing a petition later to ask the court to interpret the will in favor of the community garden."
Those legal steps wouldn't get the Jersey barriers taken down or the title to the land settled quickly enough to do any good, but they were better than nothing. "Go ahead, and do what you need to do on behalf of the garden, and send me the bill."
She chose not to add to Adam's worries by telling him that, like Dale Meek-Mason, Helen wasn't about to sit back and count on the legal process to save the garden. After all, unlike Dale, Helen didn't intend to break any laws. She was going to have to figure out who had killed Sheryl Toth. With the killer in jail, there'd be no valid reason to keep up the barricades, and then Helen was confident that Adam could convince Peterson to take them down.
Of course, that might not solve all of the garden's problems. If it turned out that the killer was somehow connected to the garden club, the selectmen would likely vote to sell the land out from under Helen's pea plants.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Dale Meeke-Mason might be a dedicated crusader, but she was also a civil servant, not someone who would be in her office at all hours of the day and night. By the time Helen left Adam's office intent on interrogating Dale again, it was well after 4:00, the closing time for town hall. Questioning her would have to wait until tomorrow.
Besides, Jack was muttering about how Helen had had a few eventful days and needed to take care of herself if she wanted to avoid either a relapse or the interference of her nieces. Sometimes it wasn't worth the effort it took to avoid well-meaning help, so she let Jack take her straight home. That didn't mean she was done for the day. After dinner, she would curl up with Vicky and read some more issues of GreenPrints as research into the psychology of dedicated gardeners and whether they might actually commit murder to protect their land.
Before Jack left, she arranged for him to pick her up again at 9:30 the next morning and then went inside the cottage to clear her own schedule for the rest of tomorrow. All she really had to do was to reschedule her appointment with Rebecca from the afternoon to first thing in the morning, but she also called Lily and Laura to find out why she hadn't heard from them lately. When neither one answered, Helen was both relieved that she didn't have to field any difficult questions from them about dead bodies and a bit concerned that the girls were both incommunicado. Usually, she could get one or the other to answer the phone or, if they were busy, to at least respond with a quick text. Helen left a voicemail for each of the nieces and then sent texts as well, asking them to call her when they had a chance.
She'd been particularly disappointed not to speak with Lily. Not just because of the promise to check on her for Adam but also because Helen had hoped to enlist Lily to do some research on Wharton Meadows' financial standing. It would be good to know just how much Wes Quattrone needed the expansion for the retirement community's long-term viability.
She still hadn't received a response from either Lily or Laura the next morning when, to Helen's dismay, she overslept and woke up a mere fifteen minutes before Rebecca was due to arrive.
Helen's intention to jump out of bed turned into more of a slow-motion struggle to get to her feet. She had to take a deep breath and accept that while she didn't have any time to waste, she'd only fall flat on her face if she pushed too hard. Better to be wearing her pajamas when she opened the door for the visiting nurse than to be wearing a collection of bruises.
Nevertheless, she managed to get dressed, brush her teeth,
and feed Vicky before there was a knock on the front door. Helen noticed she was limping a little as she crossed the great room to let the nurse in. Maybe it was time to adjust her cocktail of meds a little. It wasn't unusual for the treatment to decrease in effectiveness over time and need adjustments to the dosages. She just hated having to leave Wharton and go into Boston for the lab work and consultations to decide on the new dosages. Especially when it was largely a matter of trial and error with no clear answers, so she'd have to go back for more tests and consultations every couple of weeks. All of that would have to wait until after she was sure that the garden wouldn't be sold while her back was turned.
Rebecca went about her standard collection of medical data, announcing at the end, "Your blood pressure is much better today."
Probably because she was still half asleep, Helen thought. Fortunately, Rebecca didn't seem to have noticed her patient's sluggishness. "I told you I'd be fine."
"Are you sure?" Rebecca frowned. "You've been awfully quiet today."
So much for putting anything past Rebecca.
"I'm not much of a morning person," Helen said, which was true even if it wasn't the whole story.
"Is there anything else we need to talk about?" Rebecca said. "More near misses with cars or other threats on your life?"
"Of course not," Helen said, starting to wake up enough to resent the implication that she was constantly throwing herself into danger. "All I did yesterday was visit some new acquaintances at Wharton Meadows, hang out at the garden, and have a chat with Lily's boyfriend. Nothing whatsoever that would affect my health."
Rebecca packed away her stethoscope. "What did you think of Wharton Meadows?"
"I thought it was a nice place to visit—especially the dining hall—but I wouldn't want to live there."
"It's not that bad," Rebecca said. "I've heard that the residents there are generally quite happy. It may not be perfect, but it can be the best compromise. Many of them have age-related cognitive impairments that make it impossible for them to live alone. Their family members don't always have the time or skills to take care of them. It can be a difficult decision when a loved one needs to leave his or her home for an assisted-living facility, but it's often best for both the patients and their families. I've seen too many situations where a family member ruined his or her own health trying to take care of a spouse or parent at home."
