Picked to Die (An Orchard Mystery) (24 page)

“Vastly oversimplified, but I agree with your outline. I feel terrible because I don’t know whether to feel relieved that this is over or guilty because I didn’t pass on what Hector told me about Novaro’s troubles in Jamaica or glad that those same troubles back up Emma’s story. How much leeway do the state police have, do you think?”

“I’m not going to try to guess. I imagine Emma has a case for self-defense, but they were both party to the cover-up. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

After they’d eaten lunch, Meg made her way slowly up the hill, seeking out the tall form of Raynard among the trees. She spotted him at the end of one row and approached. “Raynard, can I have a minute?”

“Of course,” he said, as he climbed down the ladder. “Is there a problem?”

“No, not exactly, but I have some news about Novaro’s death. The police will be speaking to Hector, I’m sure, but I wanted to tell you that a teenage girl has come forward, admitting that she was the one who killed Novaro. It was an accident. She says that he was . . . aggressive with her, and wouldn’t take no for an answer, and that she just shoved him away but he hit his head hard. And then Jeffrey arrived on an errand and helped her to cover it up, to direct attention away from her, because he and the girl have been sort of seeing each other. They’re all over at the state police station in Northampton right now. But I thought you should know.”

Raynard looked away from Meg. “Tell me, will charges be brought against those young people?”

“I can’t say. It’s certainly possible. Why, do you have something to add?”

Raynard spoke slowly. “I have told you, and I believe the police already know, that Novaro was in some trouble before he came here. It involved a young girl who was, shall we say, less willing than Novaro. So I can believe this girl’s story. Hector’s family tried so hard to help Novaro turn his life around, but he was not interested, I suppose. Thank you for telling me, Meg. At least you have given us an answer.”

“I was trying to help, Raynard,” Meg said. But, she wondered, as she donned her picking bag and set to work, why didn’t she feel better about it?

Meg dragged herself back down the hill at the end of the day, feeling exhausted both physically and emotionally. It was funny how sometimes she welcomed picking because it left her mind free to roam; today she’d wanted nothing more than to not think at all, and the rhythmic repetition of picking had become soothing and mindless. Or it would have been, had she been able to tear her thoughts away from whatever was happening at the state police offices at Northampton.

Meg had always believed in following the rule of law, but since becoming involved in more than one crime after arriving in Granford, she was more aware of the gray areas these days. Not that it was ever right to take the law into your own hands. But was it always right to punish someone when a crime was committed—or overlooked—with only good intentions? Who could make those decisions? Still, the bottom line here and now was that both Emma and Jeffrey had committed crimes, even if they had not set out to do so, and there had to be consequences.

She was sitting in the kitchen with a glass of wine in her hand, staring at nothing, when her phone rang; the caller ID read Police Department. Art? She debated not answering, but that would be cowardly, and she’d rather know what he had to say. “Hello?”

“It’s Art, Meg.”

“I thought it might be. What happened?”

“I think the outcome was as good a one as we could have hoped for. Marcus says they’re not going to charge Emma with murder, because she was acting in her own defense, and no one’s going to look at her and think she used undue force. Jeffrey is most likely going to get slapped with a fine, and he’ll get probation—with a misdemeanor on his record. But at least it’s not a felony, and no jail time.”

“Wow, that is lucky for them. How did Marcus react to all this?”

“Let us say that collegiality was maintained between our respective departments,” Art said evenly. “Pass the news on to Seth, will you? I’ll see you both at the Harvest Festival tomorrow.”

“Will do, Art. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Thank
you
, Meg. You made some pretty critical connections along the way.”

All in a day’s work
, Meg thought, after they’d hung up. In reality, the cliché was true: she’d been helping neighbors, and as it happened the crime had splashed over into the Jamaican community, which was part of her work scene. Plenty of connections there.

Seth came in half an hour later, by which time Meg was wrestling with dinner. Boil water: check. Open jar of . . . something or other. Check. Boil spaghetti and drain. Add B to A and call it dinner. “Any word from Art?” Seth asked, as he helped himself to a beer.

“Yes, not long ago. I think the bottom line is that the kids are getting off lightly—no trials, no jail time. Not scot-free, but fair. I managed to talk to Raynard as he was leaving, and I asked him to spread the word among the pickers that the police had settled things. How are you doing?”

“Tired. Sometimes wrangling construction projects is a lot easier than dealing with human problems.”

“I hear you.”

“You ready for tomorrow?”

“I have no idea. At this point, what will be, will be.”

A few minutes later, there was a knocking at the back door. Again? Was there anything left to be solved? She opened it to find Jeffrey Green and his father Sam.

“I’m sorry to barge in like this, but I thought we ought to thank you for all your help,” Sam said.

“You’re welcome,” Meg said. “Although it would have been easier all around if your son here had just told the truth from the beginning,” she added, more tartly than she’d anticipated.

“I know that, Meg, and I’m really sorry,” Jeffrey said, and he looked like he meant it. “But I’d only wanted to help Emma, when she was so upset.”

Meg raised a hand. “Don’t worry, I understand. I think I was young once, although it’s getting harder and harder to remember it. And I’m pretty sure teenagers don’t think too clearly. Hey, have you two eaten?”

“Not yet,” Sam said quickly, “but we really aren’t desperate enough to show up and beg for food again.”

“Dinner tonight is about as simple as humanly possible, so it’s no trouble. Did Emma and Jake go on home, or should we expect them to show up any minute, too?”

“Home. They have a lot of things to talk about.” Sam and Jeffrey followed Meg inside, and greeted Seth. “Hey, Seth. We came by to thank the both of you,” Sam said. “We should have brought gifts or something.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Seth said. “I’m glad it worked out as well as it did. So, what now? Sam, are you going to stick around for a while?”

Meg handed a beer to Sam and a glass of cider to Jeffrey, eager to hear Sam’s answer.

Sam smiled. “After seeing what kind of trouble this kid gets into when I’m gone, I think I’d better. Not that Karen and I are likely to get back together, and Jeffrey knows that, but I’ll be around. I’ll have to find a job, though.”

Meg sneaked a glance at Jeffrey, who looked happy at the idea of having his father nearby. “Speaking of Karen, has anybody talked to her yet?”

“That is a pleasure I have still to look forward to—although I did leave a message on her voice mail. Kind of an odd message to leave, you know?
Our son was almost arrested but it’s all right now
?”

Jeffrey snorted. “Dad, if it hadn’t been for mom, Emma and I could have seen each other in public, like normal people. Instead we’ve been sneaking around and hiding. I should have been there to make sure that Novaro didn’t let things get out of hand, but I knew Mom would make my life miserable if we went public. She probably would have called the health department and had Stebbins’s store shut down for some made-up health code violation. For all I know, she would have declared Emma a witch and had her burned at the stake on the village green. All I ever wanted was to spend time with Emma.”

Meg noted Sam clearly trying to suppress a smile at Jeffrey’s vivid imagery, but he collected himself enough to put his foot down. “Jeffrey,” Sam said firmly, “cool it a bit, okay? What happened was
not
your mother’s fault. Your mother loves you as best she can. She wants you to be happy, really. Unfortunately, she can only understand happiness by her own terms, and her vision for you doesn’t include someone like Emma.” He sighed. “But I tell you what—if I have anything to say about it, you’ll be able to see each other openly from now on. Emma seems like a pretty decent kid.”

“She is, Dad. And it’s not like we’re going to get married or anything. I just like her.”

Meg dumped a huge mass of pasta into an equally huge bowl, poured what seemed like a gallon of sauce over the top, and thunked it on the dining room table. “Here’s dinner. Help yourselves.”

They busied themselves with distributing food for a few minutes. After she’d inhaled half her serving, Meg said, “You know, Sam, you must feel very strange, with so many people in town tramping through the details of your personal life. I know—I’ve been there.” She smiled briefly at Seth, who returned it. “Do you know, not even this guy here trusted me when I first arrived?”

“It’s kind of nice to know that things—and people—can change. I mean, take the two of you now—you started out butting heads, and now you’re getting married.” Sam sighed. “Look, I’m not proud of how I’ve handled things. Karen and I went through a nasty split, and I took the easy route and cleared out—feeling guilty all the way. I knew in my gut that leaving Jeff with Karen was a bad idea, but I couldn’t stick around, and I needed a job.”

“Hey, Dad, I understood,” Jeffrey protested. “And I was the one who wanted to stay here.”

“Nobody’s blaming you, Sam,” Meg said.

Sam jumped up and started pacing around the kitchen. “
I’m
blaming me! Jeff, you’re a good kid, and you try so hard, and you didn’t deserve all this. This thing with Emma, it breaks my heart. You should be able to date any girl you want, without sneaking around. I wish I could fix what I’ve done.”

“It’s okay, Dad. Really.
We’re
okay.”

“God, I hope so, son.”

With the resiliency of youth, Jeffrey perked up as he changed the subject. “Hey, I found out some really cool stuff about that body on the green.”

Meg recoiled in mock horror. “When on earth did you find time to do anything like research, Jeffrey?”

“There’s lots online. And I’ve been e-mailing Miranda Marvin—she’s great. She told me what I should be looking for, which helped a lot. You want to hear?”

“Go right ahead,” Seth said.

“Okay. So, the stuff we’d learned already—that the guy was African but lived here most of his life, died in his sixties, and was buried on land originally belonging to the Moodys who we know from the census still had slaves in the 1790s—all points to him having been a slave, right?”

“Slaves?” Sam said. “Here?”

“Yeah, Dad. I’ll fill you in later. But the thing is, I don’t think our guy
was
a slave. At least not at the time of his death.”

“Why do you say that, Jeffrey?” Meg said, leaning forward on her elbows.

“Because I found one of the Moodys’ wills, from around 1740, I think. It says that the deceased had a slave named Richard, but made provisions for this Richard in the will, including that Richard had to work for a term of two years for each of his two sons, and at the end of that time he would be granted his freedom.”

“And was he? Can you tell from the records?”

“I think so. There weren’t any federal censuses early enough, but there are town tax records and that kind of thing—Mrs. Selden showed me some of those. There are records of tax payments by one Richard Moody, after 1750. So I think this guy was a
freed
slave.”

“Did Richard Moody own land?” Meg asked, intrigued.

“I don’t know that yet—I’d have to get over to Northampton to check the indexes there, because the early stuff isn’t online yet. But it’s possible.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve looked to see if he married or had children?” Seth asked.

“Not yet, sir, but I’ve just gotten started. I’ve been, uh, kind of busy this week.”

“What did Miranda say?” Meg asked.

Jeffrey flashed a bright smile. “She said she’d be happy to have me as an intern anytime. And that she was going to call our skeleton Richard from now on.”

“That’s wonderful!” Meg said. “And quite a compliment.”

The happy mood was shattered by a knocking at the front door.
Who could it be now?
Meg appealed silently to the gods. “I’ll get it,” she said out loud, and trekked to the front door, which when opened revealed Karen Green, arms crossed, unsmiling.

“Where is my son?”

“He’s here, and so is his father. Come on in.” Meg stepped back to let Karen enter, then led her to the kitchen. Sam and Jeffrey stood up when they saw her, wearing matching expressions that were equal parts sheepish and belligerent.

“Coffee? Wine?” Meg said to their guest.

“This is not a social occasion!” Karen said in a shrill voice. “I want to know what the hell is going on! Since you’re all here, maybe one of you will be kind enough to explain?”

Wine for me
, Meg said to herself. She held up the chilled bottle she pulled from the fridge, and Seth nodded his agreement. “You sure you don’t want any, Karen? You may need it. And sit down, will you?”

“Fine.”

Meg drew three glasses from a cupboard and placed them on the table, then filled each one halfway. Then she sat and stared at Karen until she sat on the edge of a chair, back stiff, twisting her fingers in her lap.

“Sam, you want to take this?” Meg said, after a healthy swallow of wine.

“I will. Karen, you’ve got to promise to keep your mouth shut until Jeffrey and I have explained. Can you do that?”

Karen stared at him for a moment, then her shoulders slumped. “All right. Tell me.”

Sam proceeded to outline the events of the day, starting with Jeffrey’s unexpected confession and Emma’s appearance, and ending with the trip to Northampton to explain. “So, bottom line,” Sam finally wrapped up, “the kids are in the clear, more or less. There’s nothing more that we need to share, is there, Jeffrey?”

“No,” Jeffrey answered emphatically. “But I’m going to keep seeing Emma, Mom.”

Karen looked pale and drained. Meg almost felt sorry for her: it must be hard to see the life you’ve so carefully constructed crumble to pieces in front of your eyes, in the space of a few short hours.

Then Karen picked up her glass and drained it, holding it out for a refill. “I . . . don’t know what to say. How could my son have gotten himself into this mess? I thought you were smarter than this, Jeffrey.”

Seth stepped in before Jeffrey could speak. “Karen, your son is a fine boy and a credit to you and his father. He acted out of the best intentions, but he’s still young, and he’s definitely idealistic, and he made some bad decisions. But he has a mind of his own and, thank goodness, a heart.”

“Karen,” Meg added carefully, “I know we don’t know each other well. From what I’ve been hearing, I can understand that you want the best for your son. What you aren’t seeing is that he’s got to figure out how to make his own way in the world. Maybe he made some bad choices in this case, but that’s how we learn. And he’s going to fall in love, whether you like it or not.”

Karen looked at Meg, her expression bleak. “You’re telling me how to run my life? And my son’s? You don’t even know me, and I don’t know you.”

Meg held her tongue. From what she’d seen of him, Sam seemed to be a really nice guy. Sure, he’d left Jeffrey behind to deal with his mother alone, but she could definitely understand why. She was glad that Jeffrey had found some little corner of his life that his mother couldn’t trample over: Emma was both his haven and his rebellion. Even better, she was a good choice for him, current situation aside. When they were together it was clear that Emma cared for him, and he obviously cared for her. But could any of that get through to Karen? If Sam stayed around, would that help?

There were no guarantees in life, were there? Good parents turned out rotten kids; self-centered, foolish parents produced good kids like Jeffrey. And everyone else just muddled along. If—when—she and Seth had children, what kind of parents would they be? She’d seen Seth with children, and thought he was great, but Meg had always had reservations about her own maternal aptitude. Loving them was easy—even icy Karen must love her son, Meg assumed—but shaping them and giving them the skills to be good human beings was something else.

Meg drained her glass and stood up. “I’m sorry if you think I was unfair to you, Karen, but I hope that you can see that we care about Jeffrey and we want to help him if we can.”

Karen gave her a bitter smile. “I know you think I’m doing a lousy job of being a mother to him. Sometimes I think he’s older than I am. But he has so much potential, and I don’t want him to let that go to waste . . .”

“If you don’t give him room to grow, that potential will be lost,” Seth said. “You’ve given him a solid base. Now let him find out what
he
wants for himself.”

Meg stole a glance at Jeffrey, who was contemplating his hands under the table to avoid looking at anyone. This whole conversation must be hard for him to hear. Sam was watching his son, and he finally said, “Karen—they’re right. We have to give Jeffrey some space.”

“It’s hard,” Karen whispered. “He’ll be gone in a year, and what will I have left? No husband, no job, no family. You don’t have to say it—that’s all my fault. I’ve driven my family away. But it’s only because I want so much for them.”

What Karen needed was something to occupy her mind and make use of whatever capabilities she had, Meg realized. “Karen, what do you like to do? I mean,
really
like? Take pleasure in?”

Karen turned to Meg, surprise clear on her face. “Why?”

“Because as you just said, you know Jeffrey will be moving on in a year, and you need something in your life that interests you. You’re a smart, capable woman, and you’re not using half your abilities. Do something! Find something that matters to you.”

“Like what?” At least Karen now looked more curious than mad. Had no one ever talked to her like this?

“Anything. Take up weaving. Write a novel. Save starving children somewhere. What’s important is that you stop stewing and go out there and
do
something.”

“But . . . I don’t . . .”

But Meg was on a roll now. “Why are you on the board of the Historical Society?”

“Because it’s an important organization in Granford, and I was invited to join.”

Probably because they thought you could write a nice check
, Meg said to herself. “Do you like history?”

“Yes, I do. What does this have to do with anything?”

Meg noticed that Jeffrey had now looked up and was showing signs of interest. She went on, “Look, your board and Gail have done a great job planning the renovation of your building, and you’re going to have so much more space now, so it will be possible to bring together all the collections that nobody’s seen in years. You can help organize and catalog them. You know how to use a computer?”

“Of course I do, but I don’t have anything like library training . . .”

“It doesn’t matter. Gail can show you how it works, and there will be other people working on it, who can help you. It’s something that needs doing, and you can learn a lot about the town you live in, and the families here, going back centuries.”

Karen was beginning to look stunned. “Would she . . .”

“Yes,” Meg plowed on, without giving Karen time to protest. “Just ask her. You’d be great at it.”

“What about Jeffrey?”

“Jeffrey will be fine. And in case you haven’t noticed, he really likes history, so that’s something you two could share.”

“Mom, I’d be happy to help you learn,” Jeffrey said eagerly. “You wouldn’t believe the cool stuff you can find out when you start looking.”

“Oh.” While Meg watched, Karen appeared to pull herself together: she sat up straighter and smoothed her clothes. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. Uh, Jeffrey, will you be coming home with me, or staying with your father?”

When Jeffrey hesitated, Sam said, “Go with your mother—I think she needs you. We’ll talk later.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Karen said quietly. Then she turned to Meg and Seth. “And thank you, both of you. I . . . I think I’d like to get to know you better, if that’s possible.”

“Of course,” Meg said, hoping she wouldn’t regret it later. “I can help you learn how to catalog, too—but not until the harvest season is over, please.”

Meg watched as Karen made her way to the door, with Jeffrey following closely. When the door closed behind them, she turned back to Seth; he began to clap, slowly, then faster, and then Sam joined in.

“That was amazing,” Sam said.

“What? What did I do?”

“You told Karen some hard truths, and she listened. That may be a first in her life. You were great.”

“Thank you, I think.”

“I should get out of your hair and let you folks get some rest. It is okay if I stay at your place just awhile longer, Seth?”

“Sure, no problem. Come to the Harvest Festival tomorrow and maybe we can find time to talk.”

“I’ll do that. See you there.” Sam left by the back door, and they heard his car start up in the driveway.

Meg refilled her glass and Seth’s with what was left of the wine. “Is today over yet? Because I’m exhausted.”

“We can declare it over if you like. I’ve got to be up early myself.”

Bree came in a few minutes later, then stopped, as if startled to see Meg and Seth sitting together in near-silence in the kitchen. “Everything okay?”

“Just dandy,” Meg said, feeling that second glass of wine. “We just solved all the problems in the town, and—”

Bree held up a hand. “I don’t need details. You still going to the Festival tomorrow?”

“I guess. Seth, you ready to go up to bed?”

He stood, held out a hand, and hauled her out of her chair. “Let’s go.”

Bree snorted as she went up the stairs to her room.