A Killer Crop (8 page)

Meg complied. In a low voice Meg said, “How’s the weather?” nodding toward the front room.

“Partly sunny. Don’t worry,” Rachel said in a similarly low voice. “We’ve been having a nice time, but she does seem a bit down. Come on back.” Rachel led the way through the kitchen, and Meg followed dutifully.

Elizabeth looked up when she entered the room. Meg was startled to see that her mother seemed to have aged overnight. What had Daniel been to her? More than an old friend, at least once upon a time. But now was not the time to probe. “Meg, darling, are you sure you can spare the time from your orchard?”

Meg refused to look for sarcasm in her mother’s comment. “Apparently. Today I’m between ripenings, according to Bree, although that can change daily. I wondered if you’d like to have lunch, and maybe I could show you a bit of Amherst?” If Weston hadn’t already shown her the sights.

“That would be delightful, but as it happens, Daniel’s memorial service is this morning.”

How did she know? Had Rachel told her? “And you’re going?” Meg said, trying to keep her tone neutral. She wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad idea, under the circumstances. Elizabeth was neatly dressed in dark pants and a jacket, with a conservative blouse in muted tones; Meg suppressed the irreverent thought that her mother had brought just the right clothes for attending a funeral.

“Of course. He was an old friend.”

Was that all he was?
Meg thought for a moment. Her mother was still hiding something—that much she would put money on. But if Elizabeth was thinking about going to the service, she must feel sure that her presence wouldn’t be ill received. Or maybe she just wanted to send the message that her encounter with Daniel Weston had been completely open and aboveboard—just two old friends getting together. Would Detective Marcus be there? Would Daniel’s wife? Children? Members of the college faculty?

“You should go now if you want to make it on time,” Rachel said.

Elizabeth stood up quickly. “That’s no problem. Just let me find my purse. One minute, I promise.”

As Elizabeth disappeared down the front hallway, Meg asked quietly, “Were you the one who told her about the service?”

“Yes. Shouldn’t I have? I thought she might want to go, and no one else was going to notify her.” Rachel matched Meg’s tone.

“No, that’s fine. I just wondered how she knew. I figured it was probably you. Did she say anything about . . . anything?”

Rachel shrugged. “Not really. Of course, I don’t know what she’s usually like, but she’s seemed kind of subdued. She spent most of yesterday curled up in the front parlor with a book, but I’m not sure if she even read any of it.”

That was troubling. “That’s not like her. I’ll see how things go today. Did she hear anything from Detective Marcus?”

“Not that I know of. Nothing new on Professor Weston’s death?”

“Art shared a few bits and pieces, but they don’t make much sense right now. No obvious cause of death, although the autopsy reports aren’t in, but no one seems to know what the man was doing where he was found. By the way, Seth showed me a picture of Daniel Weston—definitely an attractive man. I’ll fill you in later.” Meg could hear the brisk click of her mother’s heels approaching.

“All set, dear,” Elizabeth said brightly.

“Well, you two should get going or you’ll be late. You know where the church is?” When Meg shook her head, Rachel outlined the route.

Meg said good-bye to Rachel and escorted her mother out to her own car. They drove the couple of miles to downtown Amherst with Meg making bland comments about the neighborhood, and her mother making predictable comments about the pretty trees. As the arrived at the church, Meg asked her mother, “Are you okay?”

Elizabeth turned to Meg with an odd expression she didn’t recognize. “I suppose. I’m sad, more than anything—this isn’t how I expected . . . Poor Daniel. But I thought I should be here.”

“Does Daddy know about any of this?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, I haven’t been able to reach him. Besides, he would probably think he should be here, but I wouldn’t want him to interrupt his trip. I’ll represent the both of us. Shall we go in?”

The church, another typical plain New England church of the type that Meg was rapidly becoming familiar with, was fairly well filled, and most people looked as though they belonged to the local academic community. Meg checked out the front pew for family members, but she couldn’t tell much from the backs of their heads. Daniel’s wife, if that’s who she was, sat with her back stiff, her head high. She was flanked by a couple of twenty-something young men who wore tailored jackets, a rare sight these days, at least to Meg. Daniel’s sons? His wife’s by an earlier marriage? Elizabeth slid into a pew halfway down the aisle. Meg sat next to her without speaking, folding her hands in her lap.

The service was short and formal, with no gushing eulogies or histrionics from bereaved family; overall it was simple and dignified. Meg glanced at her mother once and saw that while her face was still and composed, tears were tracing their way down her cheeks. Meg turned away. She could count on the fingers of one hand the times she had seen her mother cry.

When the service ended, Elizabeth sat still, making no move to leave, and the local people, many of whom seemed to know each other, gathered in clots and made their way slowly out of the church. Others moved in the opposite direction, to pay their condolences to the widow. Meg watched as the woman she took to be Daniel’s wife stood up and turned to greet people—a small ad hoc receiving line. Several people approached, took her hand, leaned close, and murmured something that Meg was too far away to hear. One figure stood out, a tall black man with silvered hair, wearing a well-tailored tweed jacket. He spent a few minutes talking to her, holding one of her hands in both of his. The woman nodded and produced a smile now and then. The two young men flanked her like guards but said nothing, looking vaguely uncomfortable. The woman didn’t look terribly distraught, but Meg couldn’t tell whether she was exercising admirable control or was actually numb following her husband’s death.

Meg leaned toward her mother and whispered, “You don’t know her?”

“Patricia? No, we’ve never met. She seems to be handling it well.”

Meg watched as someone else approached, after a few false starts, as if unsure of her welcome. She was young, likely a student, and even from a distance Meg could see that she was struggling to contain tears. The wife, Patricia, greeted her formally, and stood patiently as the girl twisted her hands together and words tumbled out of her mouth. Eventually she realized that there were others waiting and disentangled herself, stalking down the aisle toward the door without greeting anyone else.

When at least half the crowd had cleared away, Elizabeth stood up and walked slowly to the front, where the woman and young men were still talking with a cluster of people. Meg followed at a distance, uncomfortable yet reluctant to leave her mother unsupported. She hadn’t known Daniel—hadn’t even known of his existence until the past week—and she had no role to play here.

When the others finally made their farewells, Elizabeth stepped up. “Patricia? I’m Elizabeth Corey. We’ve never met, but I knew Daniel when he was in grad school. Quite a long time ago. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Patricia studied Elizabeth. She didn’t look devastated; she didn’t even look upset. “Thank you for coming. I know who you are—Daniel mentioned that he was planning to get together with you. Is Corey your married name?”

“Yes. He knew me originally as Elizabeth Judson.”

“Are you staying in the area?” Patricia’s eyes flickered toward Meg, standing silently behind her mother. “I’d like a chance to sit down and talk with you, if you’ll be around for a while longer.”

“Certainly.” If Elizabeth was startled by Patricia’s request, she didn’t show it. “Let me give you my phone number.” Elizabeth rummaged through her purse and found a card on which she scribbled her cell phone number. She handed it to Patricia. “I should be around for several more days. Any time that’s convenient for you. And if there’s anything I can do ...”

“Thank you. Listen, we need to get back to the house, but I’ll call you later.”

Elizabeth stepped back politely. “Of course. Don’t let me keep you.” She turned to leave, with Meg trailing in her wake.

“Are the boys his sons?” Meg asked as she caught up with her mother.

“Yes, from his first marriage. The older one is Daniel Junior, but I forget the younger one’s name. They’re both a few years younger than you.”

“What on earth does she have to talk to you about?”

“Meg, I can’t tell you. Maybe she wants to know more about Daniel before she met him. Why don’t we just wait and see? Perhaps she was just being polite. She may not follow through.”

They had nearly reached the doors when a dark figure stepped forward: Detective Marcus. “Mrs. Corey, may I have a word with you?” he asked formally.

“Now?” Elizabeth said, startled.

“Yes. Let’s go outside and find a place to sit.” He led the way out of the church. Elizabeth glanced at Meg, an eyebrow raised, and Meg could only shrug. Conveniently there were several long benches arrayed along the outside wall of the church, and the detective gestured toward one safely away from foot traffic. Meg sat at one end of the bench, leaving the middle for her mother. Marcus waited until they were both settled before sitting at the far end.

There was a cold lump in the pit of Meg’s stomach. Part of it was due to her history with Detective Marcus: despite a recent thaw between them, she still felt intimidated—even irrationally guilty—in his presence. That probably made him a good cop, but it didn’t make him easy company. How would her mother stand up to his interrogation, if that was what this was?

Marcus was studying Elizabeth’s face. Elizabeth met his eyes, but Meg was troubled: normally in a social situation her mother would have filled the silence with light and amusing chitchat, but clearly Elizabeth had recognized, if belatedly, that this was truly serious.

Marcus cleared his throat. “We’ve received the preliminary autopsy results. Daniel Weston’s death was a homicide.”

Meg froze, watching her mother. Elizabeth shut her eyes, and when she opened them to look at the detective, they were wet with tears. “How . . . ?” she whispered.

“I can’t say,” Marcus said.

Elizabeth cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, her voice was level and controlled. “I’m sorry to hear that, but what does that have to do with me?”

Detective Marcus’s expression didn’t change. “Mrs. Corey, I don’t think you were completely frank with me the last time we spoke.”

“Why would you say that?” Elizabeth’s expression, like his, gave nothing away.

“You came up here without letting anyone know—your husband, your daughter—to meet with someone you said you hadn’t seen in, what, thirty-plus years? And then he ends up dead. That’s kind of a big coincidence, don’t you think?”

“But that’s what it is—a coincidence,” Elizabeth protested. “I have no knowledge of his death. Haven’t you interviewed his wife? His friends?”

“Of course I have. His wife knew next to nothing about you, although she did manage to dig up a few old pictures he’d kept when I asked. I’m guessing they’re of you and your husband with Weston.” He passed a plastic sleeve with a couple of curling photos across the table toward Elizabeth.

Elizabeth took it and glanced briefly at the photos, then nodded. “Phillip and I were married shortly after those pictures were taken. As I told you before, Patricia is Daniel’s second wife, and until the memorial service today, I had never met her.”

“Don’t you find it curious that he picked this particular time to contact you?”

“Why?”

“It’s the beginning of the school term, which is always busy for professors, right? And he was the primary organizer for an important conference. He had to have had plenty to occupy his attention. Why call you now?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Detective, I have no idea. As I told you, he contacted me, not the other way around. He didn’t appear rushed or stressed during the time we spent together.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Good heavens! It had been thirty years since we’d seen each other. We talked about our families, our careers. Phillip. Meg. New England. College life.”

“He didn’t say anything that suggested he was tying up loose ends?”

“No. Mainly we exchanged stories about our children, how their lives have been so different from ours. He was very proud of what his boys had accomplished.”

“Hold on, Detective,” Meg interrupted. “You aren’t telling us everything. What is it that you have that makes you think Daniel Weston didn’t die a natural death?”

Marcus regarded her then, his expression an unsettling mixture of anger and speculation. Finally he said carefully, “The preliminary autopsy shows physical evidence. I’m not going to tell you the details, but the evidence was sufficient for us to consider this a homicide.”

Meg didn’t dare look at her mother, and no one spoke for several long moments. Finally Meg said, “Daniel Weston was murdered? At that farm stand?”

Marcus nodded once. “Yes.”

“Do you have any suspects yet?”
Apart from my mother?

“We’re talking to quite a few people—including your mother. The general picture is that Weston was well liked by his colleagues, he had a clean record, he was happy with his wife, his kids are upstanding citizens. Your mother is the only wild card in the bunch.”

“What about the people who were here today at the service?” Meg pressed.

“We’ll follow up on them, of course.”

Elizabeth broke in, her voice steely. “Detective, as I have already explained to you more than once, Daniel called me out of the blue and invited me to come visit. I had no conflicting commitments, so I agreed. I have no idea why he chose this particular time, because we never discussed it. We spent some pleasant time together, but we were effectively strangers these days, despite our past shared history. There’s nothing more I can tell you. I very much regret that he’s dead, but I had nothing to do with it.”