A Late Frost Page 21

  “You want to talk with Larry about something that isn’t the murder? Or you think he might have something to contribute?”

  “I don’t care which. You think it’s a bad idea?”

  “No, not really. Should we smuggle him in after dark, wrapped in a burlap sack or something?”

  “I don’t think that’s really necessary. Just call your mom and tell her to send him over, say around seven?”

  “Whatever you say. At the risk of invoking your wrath, may I point out that we have even less food than we had last night?”

  “Hey, I’m getting into this improvising thing. How about frozen ham with maraschino cherries and peanuts?”

  “I’ll go look for my antacids.”

  “Chicken!”

  • • •

  Meg had improvised a pasta dish with ham but minus the cherries and peanuts when Larry rapped tentatively at the back door. Meg let him in quickly. “Hi, Larry. Good to see you again.”

  “You mean, good that I’m not in jail? Or that I haven’t left the county?”

  Meg faced him squarely. “Larry, I have never believed that you did anything wrong. Did you ever even meet Monica?”

  “No. Never even saw the woman. But I guess you didn’t find the colchicine I left in the barn?”

  Meg stared at him, then burst out laughing. “No, I did not. Thank heavens the state police didn’t decide to search the barn, or they might have arrested me. Is it gone now?”

  Larry nodded. “And nobody’s going to find it.”

  “Good,” Meg said firmly. “I didn’t have anything against Monica, so I have no motive, but I can’t find anyone who did have a motive. You know, this poisoning business is almost a comedy of errors, except that the poor woman is dead. A week ago I’d never heard of colchicine, and now it keeps popping up all over town. Ginny Morris even gave some to me. Is that ridiculous or what? Sit down, will you? You want something to drink? Wine, beer, coffee?”

  “Coffee’s good. I’m not really much of a drinker.”

  “Is there anything I should know about colchicine that I don’t already? Have you ever heard of any accidental overdoses? Did you have to take special precautions when you were using it?” Meg asked as she put the kettle on to boil.

  “I was always careful when I used it,” Larry said. “For farm research applications, we used to buy it in powder form and mix it to the right concentration. We didn’t keep it anywhere near food that we were going to eat. I read somewhere that for medical purposes, sometimes it’s measured out by grains, not even spoonfuls.”

  “What about tablets or capsules?” Meg added coffee grounds to her pot, then poured water over them.

  “I’m pretty sure they’re mixed with other stuff, although I haven’t seen them myself. I’ve heard they were used to treat some specific conditions, but I don’t know what.” He flashed a brief smile. “If you want to see something funny, you should read the questions that marijuana growers post online about how to use it to boost their crop. It’s pretty clear they’ve been sampling their own product when they log on.”

  “I’ll add that to my list of irrelevant information. Did you ever meet Ginny Morris and her husband?”

  “Yeah, sure. I think I told you, Christopher sent me over there to check out her farm, see what she was doing, back when I was still at the university. I think she’d just arrived then.”

  Meg felt a small chill. “She gave me the tour of her place earlier this week, after I saw you last. She had a lot of work to do to bring back that orchard. Going organic must have made it even more difficult for her.”

  “Yeah, but she’s one of those people who’s really into it, although maybe she didn’t know how much work it would be. Did she tell you she’d had some important job in the city before she decided to move here? Both her and her husband. I’m not sure he’s as into farming as she is.”

  “Because he has to do all the hard physical work?” Meg asked.

  “No, I think they split that pretty evenly. Hey, if you can do it, so can Ginny Morris. You’re about the same size, right? But I don’t think he was cut out to be a country boy. You met him?”

  “No. He wasn’t home when I stopped by at their house.” Maybe it’s time I talk to him. “Hey, you want to track down Seth in his office and tell him dinner’s ready? And you can talk about tiny houses.”

  “No problem.” Larry loped out the back door into the dark, leaving Meg with the troubling thought that maybe everyone had overlooked Al Morris.

  27

  The three of them managed to spend a pleasant dinner without talking about crimes. Meg watched Larry covertly, and what she saw reinforced her original opinion: he wasn’t hiding anything. She had no reason to suspect him of anything, despite his history with colchicine, and neither did anybody else. End of story. He and Seth seemed to be having fun tossing around ideas for building out the former chicken coop.

  “I won’t ask exactly where you’ve been staying,” Seth said cautiously, “but assuming it’s a house and not a cave in the woods, has that changed your thinking about what kind of space you’d like to live in?”

  “Don’t think so. I don’t want to be responsible for a whole house. Like I think I told you. It’s too much space for me, and I don’t want a bunch of roommates. The tiny house thing sounds cool, and it’s all that I’d need. But I don’t want you to go ahead and build one just for me. If you want one for other people, or other uses, fine. I’d be happy to help out. At least until we get into the orchard season.” He shot a quick glance at Meg.

  “I know, I know,” she said. “You tell me when we need to do something, and I’ll be there. And you and Seth need to work out the details for the well pump installation.”

  “Got it.” He looked down at his empty plate. “Hey, if I haven’t said it already, I appreciate you trusting me. I mean, you don’t know me from Adam, and I really could be a serial killer.”

  Seth let Meg answer him. “I trust Christopher’s opinion, and he trusts you. That covers your professional skills and your character. I don’t think you’ve killed anybody, deliberately or accidentally.”

  “So why’ve you been hiding me?” Larry asked, looking back and forth between Meg and Seth. “Or your family, at least?”

  “Because we know the police can make mistakes,” Seth said, avoiding the last question. “Not out of malice, but because they want to solve cases, particularly in a small town like this one, where it should be easy. Once you’ve been around us for a while, you’ll understand why we feel the way we do.”

  “Yeah, I think Christopher might have said something like that. Thanks for the vote of confidence anyway. I appreciate it. Not too many people have ever believed in me.”

  Fighting tears—she must be more tired than she thought—Meg glanced at the clock. “Wow, it’s almost ten. If you guys have any business to talk about for the house—houselet?—maybe you can go over it tomorrow?”

  “No problem,” Larry said. “I’ll head back now, but tomorrow’s good. Seth, that work for you?”

  “Sure. I’m kind of wiped out, too. Seems that crime-solving is hard work. I’ll give you a call in the morning. You will answer your phone, right?”

  “Yeah, if I see it’s you or Meg on caller ID.”

  Meg yawned. “You know, I think ‘solving’ is kind of overstating things. Maybe ‘investigating’ is more like it.”

  “Art would say ‘snooping,’” Seth added. “And I don’t want to guess what Marcus would say. Interfering? Meddling? Annoying him?”

  “All of the above,” Meg said, smiling. “Thanks for coming by, Larry. Safe home.”

  “I’ll go partway with you,” Seth volunteered. “Max needs walking again.”

  The two men left, along with Max, leaving Meg with the dirty dishes. She sighed and turned on the tap.

  • • •

  Me
g had been asleep by the time Seth returned. In the morning she said, “You were gone for a long time. Did you and Larry hash out all the details for the house? Shoot, can we call it something else? Tiny house just sounds silly, even if that’s what it is.”

  “Chicken coop?” Seth suggested.

  “Sure, why not? That’s what it was. Wouldn’t you enjoy telling people, ‘Sure, come visit—you can stay in the chicken coop’?”

  “Might put off people who we want to keep out.”

  “There is that. So, what’s on the calendar for today? Larry hasn’t given me any chores yet. Maybe I should learn to make my own apple baskets. If someone else will cut the slats for them, that is. I can bend and nail them.”

  “I thought you were using plastic bins these days?” Seth countered.

  “Yes, I am, for the harvest, anyway. They’re sturdier and easier to haul around, and will probably last longer than the old wooden crates. But they kind of lack charm. I guess if I had new wooden baskets, they’d be for a more boutique market.”

  “Whatever you want. Breakfast?”

  “If you’re volunteering.”

  Seth had produced waffles with local maple syrup by the time Meg had showered and arrived in the kitchen. Lolly was sitting at one place at the table, washing her face with one paw, and Max was sitting beneath the table, hoping for scraps. It was a lovely domestic scene, and Meg was seized with a sudden surge of emotion. Her husband, her home. She could not have foreseen this when she had arrived two years earlier. If she’d followed through on her original plan—fix up the house and leave as fast as she could—where would she be now?

  Seth set a plate of waffles in front of her and slid a pitcher of warm syrup toward her. He fixed one for himself then sat down next to her. “Sorry I bailed on the dishes last night.”

  “This goes a long way toward making up for it,” Meg said with her mouth full. “Clean up after breakfast and we’ll be even.” She chewed pensively for a while. “So, Larry is absolutely definitely off the suspect list. Now what?”

  “You don’t plan to follow Art’s suggestion and stay out of this?” Seth asked.

  “He’s right, I know. And I don’t have any ideas for where to look next. I just hate to let it go and go on about my business. It feels wrong.”

  “Meg, you can’t solve all the world’s problems. Not even Granford’s problems. I love you for caring, but you’ve got to step back.”

  “I know. I shall take up embroidery, or learn to play the piano. Oh, right, we don’t have a piano.”

  “You want one?”

  “No, not really. Although we have the space for one.”

  “Be nice if the kids could learn to play,” Seth said carefully, concentrating on cutting a piece of waffle.

  Meg went still. Kids. Something they hadn’t talked about, not really, and now Seth had brought it up again, at least obliquely. He was great with kids—she’d watched him with his sister Rachel’s family. And neither one of them was young, so that clock was ticking, at least for her. It wasn’t that she didn’t want kids, more that she didn’t know what she wanted. She looked up from her own plate to find him watching her.

  She managed a smile. “I hear you. But can I make a request? Can we put the idea on a shelf for a few months? We need time for just the two of us. I’m not saying no, but . . .” She stopped speaking, trying to gauge his expression. Disappointed? How much did this mean to him?

  “Fair enough,” he said, his tone neutral. “We can revisit this come summer. When you’re ready.” He turned back to his plate, ending the discussion, but leaving Meg feeling as though she’d hurt him somehow.

  But now was not the time to push it. Quickly she changed the subject. “You know, I realized last night that I still don’t know Ginny and her husband well. Would it be wrong of me to go over and offer some sympathy? I had the feeling that Ginny’s been so wrapped up in her orchard that she really hasn’t had time to make many friends around here. I think she could use one about now, if she really is a suspect. Do you think she knows she is?”

  “Probably. You sure you don’t just want to pick her brain about what she knows about colchicine?”

  “Maybe twenty-five percent. Her kids came back before I could ask anything last time I was there. But since I’ve been in her shoes, and wrongly suspected, I know I would have appreciated that kind of support.”

  “She’s already been here three years. You’d been here a month or two. Look how far you’ve come in two years.”

  “Are you trying to make a point? That she’s been deliberately hiding out, avoiding the community?” Meg had to admit that Ginny could have made more effort, no matter how busy she was. The goodwill of the community would help her sell her apples.

  Seth went on, “You’ve probably spent more time with Ginny than I have, even though you’ve known her for a shorter time. You don’t need my blessing to go talk with the woman. It may be a good idea.” He stood up, picking up her plate and his own. “I’ll take care of the dishes now, and then Larry and I are getting together.”

  “Good.” Meg got up and fled. What had just happened? Maybe she’d been stupid, not talking about something so important earlier in their relationship. Maybe she’d been avoiding the whole subject—but why? She’d had a happy childhood, albeit without siblings. She liked babies. She wasn’t afraid of the physical side of childbirth—she was as strong and healthy as she had ever been. Had she been ducking the responsibility of having to raise a child or children? She’d spent two years learning to run an orchard, a skill set that was entirely foreign to her. Where was there time for raising a family?

  Shut up, Meg, a voice inside her demanded. Seth had sent out the first feeler. She owed it to him to think it through and decide what she thought—no, felt about it. Having a baby was not necessarily a rational, reasoned decision. She had to want it, no matter how long the list of complications were. And the ball was in her court.

  Upstairs, she pulled on clean jeans, a turtleneck, a knit sweater. She was uncomfortable with just dropping in on people, but that seemed to be a way of life in Granford. She knew Ginny should have some free time at the moment, although the kids would be home, since it was the weekend. Unless she’d left town for the duration of the investigation. Would the state police have allowed that? It didn’t matter: she was going to go over and find out if Ginny was home.

  Or was she trying to get away from the house—and Seth? No! She’d known this conversation was going to come sometime—she’d been in denial. Time to face it head-on.

  She didn’t see Seth downstairs and the dishes were done, so she figured he’d gone out to his office to wait for Larry and taken Max with him. She pulled on a coat and stuffed a hat and gloves into her pockets, then went out to her car.

  The drive to the Morris farm didn’t take long. Driving anywhere within the boundaries of Granford didn’t take long, even though she lived at the southernmost edge. She had no trouble finding the place again, and pulled into the driveway. The battered pickup that Meg had seen at Gran’s was there, but no other car. Still, she was there, so she might as well try the door. She turned off her engine and climbed up on the porch and knocked.

  After a few moments she heard footsteps, and the door opened. She found she was facing Al, not Ginny. “Oh, hi. You’re Al, right? I’m Meg Corey . . . Chapin. I’ve met Ginny a couple of times. Is she around?”

  He didn’t smile. “No. She took the kids to buy groceries. She should be back soon, if you want to wait.” It wasn’t exactly a warm and gracious welcome, but at least he’d asked.

  “Sure, if you don’t mind.” She followed him in, shucking off her coat in the process, then tossing it on the back of a chair. “Ginny walked me around the farm the other day, and I’m sorry that we never got together sooner. But since we’re in the same business, I know how busy she must be.”

  “Yeah, she is. We
both are.” The man still hadn’t smiled.

  “You’ve been here, what, three years now? Were you a farmer before you moved here?”

  “Hell, no. I worked for a pharmaceutical company in Providence. Ginny was a lawyer. This place was her fantasy. Want some coffee? It’s already made.”

  “Sure, thanks.” She watched as he headed for the kitchen, returning a minute later with two heavy mugs.

  He handed her one, then said, “Might as well sit down.”

  “Okay.” Meg sat and considered her options. It was pretty clear that Al didn’t want her here, and he was doing the bare minimum to maintain politeness. Although he could have ignored her knock on the door. What did he want?

  He sat back in his shabby chair and stared at her for a couple of moments. “You here to talk about whether Ginny had something to do with that nosy woman’s death?”

  Well, there it was, on the table. “Actually, yes. But I don’t think she was involved.”

  “You may be the only one in town who doesn’t.”

  28

  He had to be exaggerating, but Meg was getting fed up. “Al, do you want me to leave?”

  Again the stare. “I guess not. Ginny would be pissed at me if I drove you off.”

  “You don’t like people here? You don’t like Granford? You don’t like farming? What?”

  “Yeah, most of that. Why are you here, snooping around?”

  “Because I was suspected of murdering my ex-boyfriend when I first moved here, two years ago. He was found in my backyard, so I guess it was logical. But I didn’t know a soul here, and people were all too happy to pin it on me because I was an outsider. Which is pretty much true of your family, even if you’ve been here longer than I have. I thought Ginny might like to have some support.”

  “And you don’t think she killed Monica Whitman?”

  “No, I don’t. Do you?”

  “No. But you got it right: I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to raise our kids here.”