Picked to Die (An Orchard Mystery) (10 page)

“You mean like six toes or a healed fracture? I didn’t see anything obvious like that, but I haven’t had time to really study the bones. I can tell you that it was an older man, kinda short—but so was everyone back then—and it looks like he died from natural causes. Advanced tuberculosis. I’ll know more when I’ve completed the autopsy, but I thought it was more important to finish up here first.”

“You can identify tuberculosis in a skeleton?” Meg asked. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“Consider yourself lucky. TB can spread to both the bones and the bone marrow, and it ain’t pretty,” Miranda said. “Sorry to cut this short, Meg, but the diggers want to get back to digging with something larger than a teaspoon, so I need to finish up here. Shouldn’t really be a problem, since there’s so little here. A very clean grave, if you will.”

“What happens next?”

“The bones are back to the university waiting for me. I’ll do a more thorough autopsy when I can find the time, but it’s not a top priority. If nobody can identify him, I guess we either cremate him or stick the remains into storage. I don’t suppose they have potter’s fields in Granford these days.”

The idea that the unknown man would be consigned to anonymity saddened Meg. It was possible that he had relatives buried only a mile or two away. If so, didn’t he belong with them? But how was anybody going to spend the time and energy to find out? “I don’t know, but you could ask Jeffrey to look into it.”

Miranda broke into a smile. “What a treasure he is! Bright kid, and careful—puts some of my other students to shame. He’s really into this. He was here first thing this morning, and he said he’d be back later today. Oh, there he is now.” She pointed.

Meg followed Miranda’s finger. Yes, that was Jeffrey, driving a relatively recent, conservative sedan—just the kind of car Mom and Dad would have picked for him. He parked at the far end of the green and climbed out of the car, but before he could come any closer, another car—what Meg would describe as a middle-aged rust bucket—pulled in behind the sedan and slammed to a stop. The door opened and a young guy jumped out and stalked toward Jeffrey, who turned to face him. Then the passenger side of Jeffrey’s car opened and a girl emerged and hurried over to the two boys.

It was impossible to hear what any of them were saying, but their emotions were clear even from a distance. The newcomer was mad. Jeffrey was cautious and defensive. The girl seemed caught between the two, trying to placate both of them—and failing. After some posturing by the second boy, the girl got into the passenger side of his car, and once she was seated, the driver made a U-turn that left gouges on the grass at the edge of the green, and sped off the way he had come. It was a troubling scene, although the girl seemed to have gone willingly.

“Quite the drama, eh?” Meg was startled by Miranda’s comment when the other woman came up behind her. “Wonder what that was all about.”

“I have no idea,” Meg said. “I don’t know many kids around here, and I don’t suppose you do either.” Jeffrey probably hadn’t realized that he’d had an audience.

“Only college age, and I don’t live in town here,” Miranda said cheerfully.

After watching the other car disappear, Jeffrey turned and plodded to where they were standing. “Hey, Miranda. Hi, Meg.”

“Is everything all right?” Meg asked. “What was that about?”

“No big deal—some guy’s been hassling a friend of mine from school. It’s okay. What can I do now, Miranda?”

“Come on and I’ll show you. Meg, either you get your hands dirty or stay out of our way. No offense, but we’ve got only a few hours of daylight left.”

“I understand. I’ll leave you to it, then. But I hope I’ll see you again.”

Miranda had already turned back to the dig and didn’t appear to hear her.

Dinner finally came together after eight, thanks to a Crock-Pot meal Meg had somehow managed to throw together earlier in the day, containing whatever she could find in her refrigerator that wasn’t too shriveled or sporting green mold. Seth was late, as he had expected, no doubt still tied up at the green in town. Bree seemed distracted. Meg was just tired, which was her steady state these days. When they finally all sat down, conversation was patchy.

“I signed up for the Harvest Festival,” Meg told Seth midmeal. “What do I need to do for it?”

“I hope you don’t expect me to make a dozen apple pies,” Bree muttered.

“Of course not. I don’t expect
anyone
to make a dozen of anything. I was thinking more along the lines of selling a few handsome bushel baskets of apples. Which varieties will be ripe by next weekend?”

“I’ll check and let you know. How many different ones do you want?”

“Four or five?” Meg suggested. “Whatever a six-foot table could hold. I could make up little cards about the history of each variety. I’m thinking I should get some bags, so people can take their apples home, and maybe I’ll look for a piece of oilcloth or something to cover the table. And I’ll need to make a sign, like that old crate label I found. Anything else?”

“I’ll think about it,” Seth said. “I have to get my head back into it, try to remember what I’ve seen at earlier festivals. But don’t go overboard—remember, it’s pretty low-key. I mean, there won’t be hordes of people clogging Route 202 for miles.”

“The leaf-peepers will be out,” Bree reminded him.

“That they will,” Meg agreed. “And Granford does have some leaves, not that they’re very far along. Seth, is your sister’s B and B fully booked?”

“Rachel’s cut way back because of her pregnancy,” Seth said. “Maybe some regulars, who booked a year ago. The foliage lovers sometimes plan years ahead.”

Meg shook her head silently, trying to imagine driving across states just to look at dying leaves. But hey, tourism brought in good money for the region.

A couple of more minutes passed as they ate. “I stopped and talked to Miranda when I was in town,” Meg said finally. “She’s doing the autopsy on that skeleton from under the church, since the state has no further interest in him, but she doesn’t know when she’ll be finished.”

“Who’s Miranda?” Bree asked.

“Oh, right, you haven’t met her. Miranda Melvin—she’s an archaeologist at UMass, specializing in old burials. When Jeffrey saw the bones, Gail asked for her help. She managed to shortcut the usual autopsy procedure. Even made Bill Marcus smile. She is a force to be reckoned with,” Meg said with a smile.

“Her I’ve got to meet,” Bree replied.

“I doubt she’ll find anything useful,” Seth said.

Meg turned back to Seth. “Why not? She’s already figured out that the body is of an older man who died of TB. Maybe she can tell what his diet was like and correlate it to local crops or something, although I suppose it’s likely that most people grew the same things. Maybe she’ll find the eighteenth-century version of industrial pollution, like sawdust if he worked at a sawmill, or a lot of smoke residue if he was a blacksmith.”

Seth tried to get into the spirit of the discussion. “If the man worked at an iron forge, there might be some residue.”

“Was there an iron forge in Granford?”

“Not then. How about pollen on his clothes? That might at least indicate what time of year he died.”

“No clothes, or at least, only a few shreds,” Meg said. “No metal—so no buckles or jewelry or coins.”

“Well, maybe there’ll be something in the written records,” Seth said. “You know, ‘Hezekiah went to town to sell the cow and failed to return—ever.’”

“Would DNA evidence help?” Bree asked suddenly.

“Possibly, together with some genealogy,” Seth replied thoughtfully. “If there’s any DNA to be found, say in teeth or the bigger bones, then that could be compared with DNA from families that we know have been living here since the 1790 census—there are still a few of those in Granford, like the Chapins. Of course, the families would have to be willing to give a sample.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Meg asked.

“Paranoia, maybe,” Seth said. “Like they’re afraid their DNA profile will end up in some secret government database.” When Meg rolled her eyes, he added, “Before you jump all over me, I didn’t say I believed it, but that some people might.”

“Got it. Gail says Miranda is a renowned expert at what she does, so if there’s anything to be found, she may be our best bet, and she certainly seemed eager to try. Oh, and I saw Jeffrey there again. Apparently he showed up early to help Miranda, then went to school for a while, then came back when school let out. He really seems excited about this project. Anyway, Miranda said she’d be wrapping up her end of things on the green by the end of today, so the construction crew can get back to work. Will they be working this weekend?”

“They said they would. They wanted extra for overtime, but I persuaded them that this was a public service. Assuming they don’t uncover more bones, it shouldn’t take them long to finish digging, in any case. Then they’ll build the concrete forms, but they probably won’t pour before Monday.”

“Do you have to oversee them tomorrow?” Meg asked.

“Yes. Why, did we have plans?”

“Nope. We’ll be picking. Right, Bree?”

Bree gave a start. “Huh? Oh, right, we are. Look, guys, I’m falling asleep at the table. I think I’ll go up now.”

“See you in the morning,” Meg said. When Bree was gone, Meg turned to Seth. “Looks like it’ll be an early night all around. I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open, too.”

Meg stood up to take their plates over to the sink and heard Seth’s cell phone ring. He glanced at it, then walked into the dining room to talk. He was back within a minute.

Meg glanced at him, and then looked more closely: his expression was grim. “What?”

“That was Art. A body was just found behind the feed store on the highway, with serious head injuries, clearly not accidental.”

“Oh my God! Who is it?” Violent crime was pretty rare in Granford, or so Meg had thought.

“Art doesn’t know all the details yet—he just arrived. Marcus was on his way. All Art said was that the victim was a young African-American male, between sixteen and twenty.”

“Why did Art call you? Are you supposed to go over and do something?”

“He just wanted me to know what was going on, in case there’s any interest from the press. I’m a selectman, remember? So I guess I represent the town.” Seth hesitated, looking at Meg with an odd expression she couldn’t read.

“What is it? Do you know who the victim might be?” she asked. As she’d noted before. There weren’t many African-Americans in Granford—except, she reminded herself, the apple pickers, who were almost exclusively dark-skinned Jamaicans. But none of the ones she knew were that young. She realized with a pang that the victim could be a friend or relative of any one of the local pickers, even one of the ones she worked with. But who would have attacked him? She’d have to ask Bree to keep her ears open tomorrow. “It’s not that. But the person who found the body and reported it was Jeffrey Green.”

“What?” That was the last thing Meg had expected to hear. “What was Jeffrey doing at the feed store? It’s not even open this late, is it? I thought they closed at five. And why would this other boy be there?”

“Meg, all I know is what Art just told me. I don’t have any details, and I’m not going to guess,” Seth said. “I’m too tired to try to make sense of it now in any case.”

“I’ll clean up the kitchen, but I promise not to use up all the hot water if you want to shower first.”

“Deal. See you upstairs.”

When Seth headed upstairs, Meg carried their few plates and glasses to the dishwasher. She’d seen Jeffrey only a few hours earlier—how had he ended up at a crime scene? What was he doing at the feed store so late? She’d seen him at the green earlier in the afternoon when he’d been helping Miranda. Which in turn reminded her of the odd confrontation she’d witnessed between Jeffrey and that boy and girl when he arrived. But the other boy had been white, she thought. How long had Miranda kept everyone on the green at work?

Well, she’d just have to wait until she got the full story. Which Seth would probably hear from Art in the morning. The village grapevine at its finest. She wiped out the sink and the counters, made sure that Max and Lolly had enough food and water, turned off the lights, and went to join Seth upstairs.

*   *   *

The next morning
Meg was up with the sun. She made coffee and settled at the kitchen table to read the daily paper and enjoy a few minutes of peace before she went up the hill. Lolly sat on the windowsill, taking advantage of the sun as well.

Meg was startled when someone knocked on her front door. That was unusual, since most people in Granford came to the kitchen door, and it was too early in the day for a solicitor. For some people, Saturday was a day off—but not for apple farmers in September. If it was a pollster or campaign worker, she’d tell him that it was kind of rude to bother anyone this early on a Saturday morning, and he probably wouldn’t get the support or the contribution he wanted.

Meg checked to see that she was wearing presentable clothes—they appeared to be marginal but okay—then went to open the door and found herself face-to-face with Rick Sainsbury.

“It’s too early for door-to-door campaigning, you know,” she said a little flippantly. But she did notice that he looked worried, not in campaign mode.

“Sorry to disturb you so early,” he apologized, “but this isn’t about the political race. It’s something personal. May we come in?”

We? It wasn’t until then that Meg realized Rick was accompanied by Jeffrey Green and a woman she didn’t recognize, but who bore an unmistakable resemblance to Rick.
Rick’s sister Karen, Jeffrey’s mother
, Meg deduced.

“Sure.” Meg stepped back and let them pass. No one looked happy to be there. She greeted Jeffrey first. “Good to see you, Jeffrey. How’re you doing?”

“Okay,” he mumbled.

His mother prodded him. “Speak up, Jeffrey.”

Which in turn moved Rick to say, “Lighten up, Karen, and leave the kid alone.” He turned to Meg, and Seth who had now come up behind her. “We need to talk. Seth, I’m glad I found you—I tried your house first.”

“In case you haven’t heard, Meg and I are getting married,” Seth said levelly.

Rick looked momentarily startled, then said, “Hey, great. Congratulations. When did that happen?”

“Last month,” Seth said. “What’s this about?”

“Introductions first. Seth, Meg, I believe you both know my nephew Jeffrey. This is my sister Karen Green, his mother. I thought it was important that we all talk now, as soon as it was possible. I apologize again for the early intrusion.”

“Please, sit down, everybody,” Meg said. “You want coffee? Because I know I do.”

Karen maintained her stony silence, and her body language as she perched on the edge of a chair made it clear she would rather be anywhere else. Her brother Rick was trying his best to compensate. “That would be very kind of you, Meg. This may take some time. Have you and Karen met before?”

“No, I don’t think we have,” Meg replied, wondering how one family could have produced both the gregarious Rick Sainsbury and this stiff sister of his. Karen alternated between glaring at Meg and Seth and ignoring both her brother and her son. Jeffrey looked miserable. Whatever this discussion was about, it would not be pleasant, Meg guessed.

“I’ll go get that coffee,” Meg said to no one in particular, and turned and headed for the kitchen. She busied herself with the coffee-pouring as Bree tiptoed down the back stairs.

“What’s up? Whose car is that?”

“Rick Sainsbury’s, and he’s brought his sister and nephew along, to talk with Seth and me.”

“And why does he need to do that right now?”

“Because someone was killed in Granford last night behind the feed store, and Jeffrey found the body.”

Bree gave her a long, silent stare. “Who?” she said finally.

“As of last night, Art didn’t know. I’ll find out if there’s any more news.”

“And you’re hiding in here pouring coffee,” Bree said. “I get it. I think I’ll go find something very important to do upstairs in my room, which will last until they’re gone. You can fill me in then.”

“I left Seth in there to handle them, so I suppose I’d better go rescue him.” Meg found a tray, stacked mugs and coffee needs on it, and headed for the parlor. At least everyone had found a seat by the time she arrived. “Oh, Jeffrey, I’m sorry—do you drink coffee, or would you like something else?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m good. Don’t go to any trouble.”

Karen finally spoke. “Meg, I apologize for barging in on you at home, but my brother seemed to think you can help us.”

Rick looked down at his hands for a moment. “Look, I won’t keep you any longer than necessary. Here’s the problem. It appears that Jeffrey was involved in an incident last night.”

“I know,” Seth said. “Art Preston called me as soon as he heard about what happened. He told me that Jeffrey called 911 about a fatal assault.”