Seeds of Deception (10 page)

She looked at Seth, trying to read his mind, but he didn't give anything away. She turned back to Elizabeth. “Mother, you said you needed to go food shopping if we're going to eat. Want me and Seth to come along and help?”

Elizabeth looked momentarily startled at the change of subject, then smiled and said, “That would be lovely, dear. You can tell me what you'd enjoy eating. Why don't we go now?”

“That's fine.”
Interrogation deferred
, Meg thought, but the break should give all of them time to digest what they'd heard and decide what they should do next.

They finished the shopping in under an hour. Elizabeth let Seth drive to the store, directing him to an upscale market a few miles from the house. Once inside, she took a cart but rambled aimlessly up and down the aisles, picking things up and putting them down, clearly distracted. Finally Meg got frustrated and said, “Why don't I make dinner tonight?” Before Elizabeth could protest, Meg started grabbing things she thought she could use, and added some staples like milk and eggs. Seth was pushing the cart, and he cocked his eyebrow at her with a half-smile, as if he had figured out what she was doing.

“Is anybody on a diet?” Meg asked as they neared the end of the shelves. She didn't wait for an answer but laid some cookies and a small frosted cake on the pile in the cart. She and Seth would eat them if nobody else would,
but she thought they could all use a treat, and she was in no mood to bake. Elizabeth didn't appear to notice. They cleared the checkout line quickly, and Elizabeth didn't even make a token effort to pay—again, unlike her, Meg thought. Her mother had very clear standards regarding hospitality: a guest did not buy the groceries and make their own dinner. Therefore, Meg deduced, Elizabeth was more upset than she was willing to admit.

When they arrived back at the house, Meg said, “Seth, can you help Mother put away the groceries? I want to have a word with Daddy. Is he upstairs, Mother?”

Elizabeth seemed to come back from some distant place to focus on Meg. “I suppose. He was using my car and it's in the drive, and he spends most of his time up there.”

Meg went upstairs to his home office, which was adjacent to the master bedroom at the front of the house. When she peered in he was seated at his antique kneehole desk, with papers spread in front of him, but he was staring blankly into space. She rapped on the open door. “Daddy?”

He jumped, startled, then turned to her with a quickly mustered smile. “Meg. What have you all been up to?”

“We were talking in the kitchen for a while, and then we went food shopping, since you were pretty much out of everything. I volunteered to cook dinner.”

“Sweetheart, you didn't have to do that. I'd be happy to take you all out tonight.”

“Daddy, I think that would be wasted on us right now. We're all tired and on edge. We need to talk. And don't you dare say, ‘about what?' Something's wrong.”

“I agree. Enrique's death, for one thing.”

“Yes, there's that. Mother says he was a hard worker—dependable. Why is he dead?”

“I've been wondering the same thing. The best I can figure is that he startled an intruder, who lashed out with the first weapon he could lay his hands on—a loose brick. Sadly, I'd asked him to replace a few in the patio, but he said it was too cold to do it now.”

“Do you get a lot of intruders in this neighborhood?”

“Well, no.”

He'd barely finished answering when Meg pressed on. “When was the last murder here?”

“Not in our time here. I can't speak to before that, but in general there is little crime in this particular neighborhood. What are you getting at?”

“Do you believe that Enrique's death was a random event?”

Phillip didn't answer immediately, staring at her bleakly. Finally he said, “No.”

Meg felt a small sense of triumph, mixed with dismay. Would she have believed him if he had said yes? “Why?”

Her father smiled without humor. “It's a shame you didn't want to become a lawyer. Or maybe you've changed recently. You're doing a good job of getting right to the point.”

“Thank you. That's not an answer. You do know that Mother is worried?”

“She hasn't said anything to me.”

Were all men so clueless, or was he making a deliberate effort not to see? “Well, she is. I think she didn't want to bother you, since you were already upset about your car. But she thinks there might have been someone in the house.”

“Why would she think that?” Phillip looked startled. “Nothing's been taken.”

“Small details, things out of place.” Meg wasn't about to say it was her mother's “feeling” because she was pretty
sure that her father would laugh at that. “Have you noticed anything?”

“I . . .” he began, then stopped himself. “All right, I'll admit I wondered if perhaps some papers on my desk here had been moved, but nothing was missing, and it had been more than a week since we'd been here. I could have forgotten exactly where things were. I didn't think it was important.”

Meg pushed away from the door where she'd been leaning and dropped into a straight chair close to the desk. It was a chair she'd always hated as a child, because it had a handsome but slippery leather seat rimmed with domed brass tacks, and she was always afraid that she would slide off it onto the floor. “All right. Say there was someone in the house. Why would anyone sneak in and not take anything?”

“That I can't tell you,” her father said, looking her in the eye.

“Have you butted heads with any clients lately? Are you in debt up to your eyeballs to the casinos? Do you have a stalker?”

“No to all of the above, my dear. My clients are no more contentious than they have ever been, we are financially solvent, and I haven't noticed anyone skulking around and following me.”

“Are you holding any valuable items or documents on behalf of one of your clients?”

“Of course not. Anything of significance or value I would take to a bank for safekeeping. Meg, what are you getting at?”

She ignored his question. “Do you have any reason to believe that the accident in Amherst is related to Enrique's death and the hypothetical break-in here?”

“Why for all that's holy would I think that?”

“I don't know. But that's two incidents that may have been directed toward you in a short span of time. Don't you find that odd?”

“Coincidence.”

“Really?”

“Meg, what do you want from me? Are you bored with your marriage already and looking to create a little excitement?”

Meg had to stifle a laugh. That was the furthest thing from her mind. “Good heavens, no. Seth and I were looking forward to a little self-indulgent downtime, away from both work and crimes. But does that mean we should just dismiss Enrique's death as an unfortunate accident and walk away?”

“Not if the facts indicate otherwise. I taught you well, didn't I?”

“I paid attention.”

“What is it you're suggesting?” Phillip asked, now looking slightly amused.

“For now, we just talk about what's happened, between ourselves. If we can eliminate any doubts, then we drop the whole thing and life goes on. What's your problem with the local police?”

“That was a fast switch. It's a long story.”

“Hey, I've got a couple of days clear. Tell me about it. Wait—does Mother know the details?”

“Yes and no. She knows there's some hostility there, but she doesn't know the details, at least not from me. Some of her local friends might have filled in some of the blanks.”

“She gets together with people around here?” Had
Elizabeth ever mentioned any activities? Had she ever asked her mother what she did with herself all day? Was she still volunteering anywhere now? Meg felt a pang of guilt: had she really meant to shut her mother out of her life? Not that she did a better job of staying in touch with her father, for that matter.

“Of course she does, Meg. She's an intelligent, active woman. What did you expect?”

Meg didn't want to answer his question. “Is she involved in anything that might prompt someone to stalk her? Anything that touches on criminal activity? Even volunteering at a shelter could trigger something, although she might not know it.”

He stared at Meg, looking troubled. “I really don't know,” he said, in a curiously flat voice.

It made Meg sad that her father had little idea what her mother did all day while he was at his office. She took a deep breath. “Daddy, here's what I think we need to do—the four of us, together. We should sit down and go over everything you and I have touched on here. No polite evasions, no pooh-poohing any ideas. Just lay it all out on the table. It might not lead anywhere. Or something might surprise us. And, much as I hate to say it, we should all be alert to anything else odd that happens, just in case. It could be nothing, but wouldn't you rather be safe than sorry?”

“You're right. So when do you suggest we hold this free-for-all family summit?”

“Sooner rather than later? Tonight, after dinner?”

“Very well. But right now I could use a Scotch.”

“First you tell me what happened with the police chief.”

“Oh,” Phillip said.
Had he hoped she would forget?
Meg wondered. “I thought it was a minor mix-up at the time.
Not long after we'd moved here, while I was still working in New York, the son of one of the police captains—he wasn't chief then—got into some trouble, and since I'd met the officer socially, he came to me and asked if I'd represent the boy. It wasn't a capital crime, but it involved some larceny, so it couldn't just be brushed off with a fine and some community service, and the man wanted it handled openly—he was always a good cop. It would be easy for me to take on, and I thought it would be a goodwill gesture in our new community here.”

“So what went wrong? He was convicted? His sentence was extreme?”

“Neither of those. While he was being held in the local jail he was involved in an altercation, through no fault of his own, and as a result he suffered some significant head trauma. He's never fully recovered—he still lives with his parents.”

“That's a shame, but why does the now-chief hold this against you?”

“He believed then that I should have acted more quickly to get him released on bail, or into his father's custody. It was a reasonable assumption.”

“Was he right?”

“Maybe I could have acted more quickly, or maybe not. But he wanted someone to blame, especially since he still has to deal with his son on a daily basis.”

Or maybe he's still nursing some guilt that his son was attacked because he was the son of a police officer?
“And how does this affect what happens now?”

“I'm not sure it does. From all I've heard, the chief is a good man, and an honest one. But because of what passed between us, he will go by the letter of the law in any
dealings he has with me. Hence the prolonged interrogation after we got home the other night. He did nothing wrong, but he could have cut us some slack and didn't. And that's all there is to that.”

“All right. Is the boy functional?”

“You mean, is he competent enough to break in here and nose around? Probably. But I have no reason to believe that he bears any grudge against me personally. I'd like to think he knows that his father would not condone such a thing. And he couldn't have been involved in the Amherst incident. He doesn't drive.”

“That would take him out of the picture, wouldn't it? I'm sorry that what happened—what, fifteen years ago?—has created problems for you now. I didn't know.”

“Sweetheart, it's never been a problem. I regret what happened, but I seriously doubt it has anything to do with what's happening now. And why on earth should you know? This town has never been your home, and you know it no better than I know your Granford.”

Meg decided they'd had as much honesty as they could handle in one sitting. She stood up. “As I said, I promised Mother I'd make dinner, and I've left her alone with Seth—or vice versa—for too long. You coming down for that Scotch?”

“Are you worried that Seth will spill all your deepest, darkest secrets to your mother?” her father said, with a more honest smile, as he stood up.

“If he can find any, he's welcome to share them.” Meg had the feeling that she knew far more about Seth than her parents had ever known about each other. Was it a generational thing? Or were they just very different people? Seth was both intelligent and a true “people person.” He got along
well with everyone, but he wasn't a pushover for anyone. She had always been more reserved—more like her mother—but she was working on that. And things for her had changed very quickly—she'd moved to Granford less than two years earlier, and here she was now, a married farmer running a business. Nothing she had ever anticipated.

“Did you ever expect to have a farmer for a daughter, Daddy?”

“I always expected you to be good at whatever you chose to do, sweetheart. If you're happy, then your mother and I are. And we like your young man. I'm not just saying that. I'm glad you waited.”

“I kind of like him, too, Daddy.”