Sour Apples (28 page)

“Sure is,” Meg said, “soon as Seth gets cracking on it.”
She watched a car pull into the driveway. “Hang on, we’ve got company.” She checked the time: all of eight o’clock, a bit early for drop-in visitors. She didn’t recognize the car, but then she saw Lauren climb out of the passenger seat, holding a large, thick envelope. A man Meg didn’t know emerged from the driver’s side, and together they headed for the back door.

Meg opened it before they arrived. “Hi, Lauren. What brings you here this early?”

Lauren held up the envelope. “That information on Pioneer Valley—I’ll be dropping it off with Bill today, but I thought you’d like a copy, too.”

“That was fast. You coming in?”

“Just for a sec. We can’t stay. I’ve got meetings all day. Hi, Seth, Bree.” Lauren stood hesitating on the doorstep until her companion pushed her forward. Meg stiffened. This was one of the guys she had seen trying to force their way into the Spring Fling, but it was the first time she had seen any of Rick’s old posse up close. Whatever muscles he’d had in high school had softened into dough, but from the way he acted, Meg wasn’t sure the man realized he’d lost his youthful edge.

“Hey, Chapin, didn’t expect to see you here,” the man said.

“Ferriter,” Seth said levelly. “I heard you were working for the campaign.”

“Sure am,” he said. “My old buddy Rick calls, and here I am, ready to catch whatever he throws at me. A couple of the other guys from the offensive line are with us, too. We still make a great team. Of course, Rick keeps us pretty busy, and it’s gonna get busier when the campaign heats up.”

Meg noted that he didn’t bother to address her. She directed her attention to Lauren. “How’d you pull all this information together so fast?”

“Rick made a few calls when we got back last night. He asked someone at the company to fax me the file, and
I made copies for you. It should all be there.” Lauren looked at Meg as though she wanted to say more but couldn’t. Afraid of her companion overhearing? Was he here as a driver or a watchdog?

“Thank you. I’m sure Detective Marcus will appreciate it,” Meg said, still marveling at Rick’s unexpected speed. Meg wondered if the file was complete, or if certain items had been judiciously extracted. No way to know. “I’m glad he didn’t take our questions the wrong way. Joyce was a good person, and we’d like to get to the bottom of what happened to her.”

“Of course,” Lauren agreed. “And I’m sure you’ll find what you need in there. Full disclosure. I can guarantee that Rick had nothing to do with this.”

“You’ve got that right,” said Ferriter. “Hey, Lauren, we’d better book it if we want to get to that Elks Club breakfast.” He gave her a nudge, and Lauren flinched.

“Oh, right, of course. I’ll talk to you later, Meg. Let’s go, Tom.”

Meg shut the door behind them and turned to Bree and Seth, who were still staring after them. “What was that all about?” Bree asked.

“We had a visit from Rick and Lauren last night, after you left. Lauren apparently told Rick what I’d said to her about Joyce’s murder and the polluted field, and he came by to tell us that he wanted to make sure we had all the relevant information.” Meg held up the envelope. “This is supposed to be Pioneer Valley’s file on the cleanup of the Granford factory site.”

“Supposed to be?” Bree asked.

Meg and Seth exchanged a look. Seth said, “You might say we aren’t sure we trust Rick. He was pretty quick to offer up this file and even quicker to make sure it reached us. Meg, you think he was expecting that question and had it ready?”

Meg sat down. “We talked to him, what, eight o’clock
last night? And we’re holding a two-inch stack of the results at eight o’clock this morning? I’d say so. Even if he has fanatically loyal employees at the company who are willing to come in in the middle of the night to fax copies, that’s pretty quick turnaround. Especially for a man who claimed he didn’t remember that particular project.”

“Breakfast?” Bree said piteously.

“I’ll get right on it.” Seth stood up and started assembling ingredients.

“So that was Tom Ferriter, one of the football players?” Meg said.

“Yup,” Seth answered as he sifted dry ingredients into a bowl, then whisked together eggs, milk, and melted butter in another. “I knew him in high school, Bree. He was a certified jerk then, and it doesn’t look like he’s changed much. Meg, did it seem to you like he had Lauren on a short leash?”

“You got that impression, too? I thought Lauren looked pretty jumpy. I wonder when we’ll have time to talk—or if. Bree, could you get out the syrup?”

When Bree stood to go to the refrigerator, Meg slid the thick stack of papers out of the envelope. “Oh my!” she said.

Seth combined the ingredients and gave them a quick stir before turning back to her. “What?”

“Lauren included several pages about Rick—looks to me like a full background check. Interesting,” Meg said.

“Interesting for what it says about Rick, or that Lauren included it?”

“Both. Hey, get back to cooking, and I’ll summarize for you. At least we have a timeline now. Rick joined the firm straight out of business school, as he said, but on his resume here he claims that
he
was the one who diversified the company and created several new subdivisions, including the remediation one.”

Seth thought for a long moment, concentrating on
pouring batter onto the griddle. Then he said, “And given the timing, the Granford site had to have been one of the first jobs for that division, right? Funny that he said he didn’t remember it. Anything else about the site?”

Meg shuffled through the papers. “I’ll have to go over this more carefully, but I recognize some of the documents as duplicates of the ones we already have. There’s some early stuff, from when they were putting together a bid for the project. Copies of some of the original soil tests—the MDEP took years to get their act together and even longer to force implementation of some of these things.”

“How’s the food coming?” said Bree.

Seth flipped a pancake on the griddle. “Just fine. You in a hurry?”

“Yes! I’m a growing girl!” she protested.

“Patience is a good virtue to cultivate, particularly in one who must wait for things to grow,” Meg said solemnly, then burst out laughing at the look Bree gave her.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bree grumbled.

A few moments later, Seth slid pancakes onto plates, and when everyone was supplied with food, Meg said to Seth, “Look at what else Lauren added to the package.” She pushed a thin sheaf of papers across the table to him, and Seth flipped through them.

“You know,” he said slowly, “this is more than PR puff stuff—this is more like deep background.”

“We figured there had to be some, right? But I wonder if Rick knows that Lauren shared it with us? If she thinks that she may be in trouble at the campaign, this could be her little rebellion.”

“Are you worried about her?” Seth asked.

“I’m not sure if I should be. Rick knows she’s my friend and that if anything bad happens to her, we’d be all over it, so I guess that gives her some security, although I didn’t like the way this Tom guy was treating her. But I’ll bet Rick won’t trust her with anything important, going forward.”

“If even part of what we’ve talked about is true, she’d be better off out of there. Tom’s still got the old bluster, but now he’s got nothing to back it up, except his buddies. He always was a bully. Only now he gets paid for it.”

“I thought a political campaign ran on its volunteers,” Meg said.

“There’s usually somebody on the payroll. And who’s to stop Rick or a deep-pockets backer from slipping in a few payments off the books?”

“You don’t much like politics, do you, Seth?” Meg asked.

“It depends,” he replied, carefully cutting his pancakes into neat squares.

The three of them ate in silence for a while.

“So, Bree,” Meg said eventually, “what’re we supposed to be doing today?”

“Since it looks like a nice day, let’s take a quick walk through the new trees and make sure they’re settling in well,” Bree replied, swabbing the last of the syrup off her plate with her final bite of pancake.

“Again?”

“Hey, it’s spring and things can change fast!” Bree protested. “Don’t you want to see how they’re doing?”

“Of course I do. At least there’s no heavy lifting. Can you clean up the kitchen while I get dressed?”

“I guess,” Bree said with little enthusiasm.

Seth followed Meg through the dining room, into the hallway. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll give you a call later, after I’ve looked at the documents again.” He dropped his voice. “And I agree with you—Lauren didn’t look happy today. Maybe when she had time to think about it, she realized what you were saying, but by then she’d already told Rick everything.”

Meg leaned against him. “I hope so. I have a bad feeling about all of this, but it’s hard to prove anything. Maybe I’m just imagining things.”

“Trust your instincts, Meg. You’ve been right so far.”

“Thank you for that. I’ll see you later.” Meg gave him a quick kiss and darted up the stairs, conscious of Seth’s gaze following her.

She changed into working clothes, found her keys, and left the house with Bree, careful to lock up behind her. Up the hill in the orchard, Meg thought the new trees looked fine, already unfurling little green leaves; more important, Bree agreed with her.

“Should we expect a certain number of trees to fail?” Meg asked.

Bree shrugged. “It happens. That’s true with anything you try to grow. But so far, so good here.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Meg made a 360-degree survey of her domain. From where she stood she couldn’t see the peeling paint on the house or the curling shingles on the roof; it looked like a solid and timeless Colonial, settled into its place between the orchard and the Great Meadow. The older orchard to the south showed blossoms on a few trees—it was going to take her a while to figure out which varieties bloomed when. “Are we okay for beehives this year?” she asked Bree.

“I’ve already talked to Carl—he’ll be bringing new ones out soon.”

“Has that colony collapse problem been cleared up?”

“Not yet.”

Meg continued her survey. Toward the highway there was the stand of old-growth trees—or maybe she meant middle-aged growth. Probably a lot of the old trees had been cut down for houses, maybe even her own and the other Warren-built house next door, and the Chapin houses over the hill. And of course trees had also meant fuel in the eighteenth century, which was why woodlots had existed. So what she was looking at now was probably a different generation of trees, even though they seemed old and large to her.

She completed the circuit to look at her house again—and wished she hadn’t. “Uh-oh, looks like trouble.”

Bree looked up from examining the underside of a leaf on one of the trees. “Huh?”

Meg pointed: Seth’s car was back, and pulling in behind it was a police cruiser. Seth climbed out of his car first and beckoned her with a wave; Art climbed out of the second car and joined Seth. “I guess I’d better get down there, not that I want to hear any more bad news.”

“I’ll stay up here, if that’s all right with you,” Bree said. “Go.”

Meg picked her way carefully down the hill, trying to delay the inevitable. The distressed body language of the two men was unmistakable, but Meg didn’t want to imagine what had happened now. When she came near, she said, “What’s wrong?”

“Ethan Truesdell is dead. Looks like suicide,” Art said.

Meg shut her eyes for a moment. Ethan must have been hit really hard by his wife’s death, and then learning that she had been murdered. “What happened?”

“Don’t spread it around, okay? He was found hanging from a rafter in his barn. A neighbor was driving by and saw—or more likely heard—that the cows hadn’t been milked yet this morning. The cows weren’t happy. The neighbor stopped and went looking for Ethan, and he found him in the barn.”

“Art,” Meg began carefully, “you said it
looked
like suicide. Are you saying you have doubts?”

“Hell, I’m beginning to second-guess everything that happens around here. Nothing is as simple as it first appears. Yes, I have doubts. That’s why I called Seth and asked him to meet me here. Ethan was found hanging from a rafter in the barn, with an old crate under him that was kicked away. I could see some bruises on his body, but anybody who works on a farm will have bruises.”

“You called Marcus?” Seth asked.

“Sure did, first thing. It’s an unobserved death, so there’ll be an autopsy and an investigation, just like with Joyce. I waited until the ME showed up, then came over here.”

“What did the ME think?” Seth asked.

Art shrugged. “He refused to comment at the scene, but they usually do a good job. I have to say, Ethan’s death coming on the heels of his wife’s just doesn’t sit right with me, and the state police agree with me.”

“They got there fast,” Meg said. “Was Detective Marcus with them, Art?”

“Sure was. They’re thinking murder—but keep that under your hat.”

“Oh God. Poor Ethan.” Meg reached blindly for Seth’s hand and he took it.

After she’d swallowed the lump in her throat, she asked, “Was the house disturbed?”

“Hard to tell. The guy just lost his wife last week and he’s been running around like crazy trying to do the work of two people, so I guess keeping things tidy wasn’t exactly a high priority. Are you asking if someone broke in? Because I can’t even guess. Anyway, I came by now to ask Seth to help find someone who can take care of the cows, at least for a bit.”

Seth’s expression was somber. “I’ll make some calls, Art. I know a couple of folks who know what to do with cows, but I don’t think they can fill in for long.”

“One day at a time, Seth. I’ve got to head over there again and talk to Marcus and the ME.”

“Did Ethan leave a note?” Meg asked.

“I don’t know yet. I checked the body to see if he was gone, and poked my head into the house—which was unlocked, if you want to know—but otherwise I called the staties and left everything for them. Let me know who you can line up for the cows, Seth, and I’ll see that they get access. I’m not so sure about the barn—depends on whether they’ll consider it a crime scene. I’ll talk to you later.”