A Late Frost Read online

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr., uh . . . Follow me to the kitchen—it’s warmer there.” Douglas turned and led the way without a backward glance. Meg felt a pang of anxiety: Did he let just everyone in like this, without question? Was that safe?

  Thank goodness the kitchen looked cleaner than it had the last time she had seen it. There were a couple of plates with crumbs on them sitting next to the sink, but nothing like the moldy chaos she had cleaned up. But that sparsity led her to another worry: Was the man getting enough to eat? There was no sign of pots or pans, and she didn’t think she had the right to search through his trash to see if he was surviving on microwave meals. “Where would you like me to put the cake?” Meg asked.

  “Oh, anywhere is fine.” Douglas waved a hand vaguely. “Unless you’d like to share a piece with me now?”

  Whatever his mental state, he seemed to remember the social niceties, probably because he’d been repeating them most of his adult life. “We’d be delighted. Seth, why don’t you unwrap it while I find some plates for us?”

  As Seth peeled the wrapping off the cake, Meg started opening cupboards, looking for plates. Everything was surprisingly neat, and Meg guessed that social services had stepped up and sorted things for Douglas. That was good. She pulled out three plates and then began hunting for forks in the drawers, plus a knife to cut the cake with.

  When they were finally settled around the table, with slices of cake in front of them, Meg asked herself whether it would be better to offer her condolences about Monica or ignore her death altogether. She was relieved when Douglas took the decision from her.

  “Monica would be so pleased that people have been helpful to me. You are all so kind.”

  “We’re your neighbors, Douglas,” Seth said. “We help each other. I hope you’ll let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.”

  “How long were you and Monica married, Douglas?” Meg asked.

  “Thirty-some years,” he replied proudly. “We were very happy together.”

  “What brought you to Granford? Do you have family around here?”

  “No, no, no family. We never had children, you see, although we would have liked to. We were both only children, but we had each other. We liked to see new places.”

  Meg noticed that he hadn’t actually answered the question. “Where did you live before?”

  “Many places, many places.”

  “This place used to be an active farm,” Seth said. “Are you interested in farming?”

  Douglas turned his attention to Seth, as if surprised at the question. “No, I don’t think so. It was pretty, and quiet. Monica liked the house.”

  “She certainly made herself part of the community quickly,” Meg commented.

  “She did like to keep busy. When she could. She wasn’t always up to it.”

  “Was she ill?” Meg asked. It seemed rude to probe about Monica’s health, but Douglas seemed not to have any reservations about talking about it, and Meg hoped she might learn something useful. If it wasn’t too late.

  “Well, no, not ill, exactly. She had a condition, something she’d had since she was a child, and sometimes it flared up. Other times that didn’t happen for a long time.”

  “She certainly seemed full of energy when I talked with her,” Meg said.

  “Oh, she was fine most of the time. She took good care of me. But I did a lot of the cooking. She’d give me a recipe, and I’d follow the instructions. We made a good team. She would make sure I took my pill, too. The thing was, sometimes she forgot to take her own medications, and I had to remind her. Those men took them away, after . . .”

  “You mean the police?”

  Douglas nodded. “Yes, the police. But she doesn’t need them anymore, does she?”

  “I don’t think so, Doug,” Meg said. “Do you remember what they were?”

  “I don’t know the name . . . The box was blue.” He brightened suddenly. “But I have some here. I told you, sometimes she forgot to take them. When I reminded her she got angry at me, or sometimes she didn’t listen. Now and then I had to slip them into her dinner when she wasn’t looking. I knew that if she didn’t take them, she’d feel really bad.”

  Meg suddenly felt cold. “Could you show us, Douglas?” she asked carefully.

  He stood up. “Let me see if I can find them. I put them somewhere safe.” He wandered out into the hall, shuffling along in his worn slippers.

  Meg shot Seth a panicky glance. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked in a low voice.

  “I’m afraid so,” Seth replied equally quietly. “And I think we can guess what those pills were.”

  Douglas came shuffling back, beaming. “Here they are! I told you I kept them safe. Monica always said it was very important to remember to take your medicine.” He held out a box, and Meg recognized it immediately.

  “Did she get these from her doctor?” Seth asked.

  “Oh, yes, she did. She had a very good doctor. But we haven’t found one around here yet. I was getting worried that we might run out of her pills, but I made sure she kept getting them.” He leaned closer and whispered, “Sometimes I hid them in her food.”

  “Yes, Douglas, you told us that. You were looking out for her,” Meg said sadly. “Would you like to finish your cake?”

  Douglas looked down at his plate and seemed surprised to see half his piece of cake there. “Oh, yes, I would like that. It’s very good cake. Did you make it?”

  “Yes, I did. With apples from my own trees. You’ve probably driven by my orchard—it’s not far from here.” She turned to Seth. “Don’t you have a phone call to make?”

  He looked blankly at her for a moment, and then figured out what she meant. “Yes, I do. Douglas, would you excuse me for a moment? I promised I’d call someone. I’ll be right back.” He walked out of the kitchen into the front room, and Meg could hear his voice, although she couldn’t make out any words.

  “Do you take your medicine too, Doug?” Meg asked to distract him.

  “Yes, I do. I have a chart, and Monica wants me to check off each time I take my pills, so she can keep track of them. I’m getting kind of low on some of them. I’ll need some more soon. Will she be back soon?”

  Meg wanted to cry. Whatever lucidity he’d shown only a few minutes earlier had faded, and now he was confused again. Poor, poor man. What was going to happen to him now?

  Seth returned quickly, and gave Meg a brief nod before turning to Doug. “Douglas, I asked a friend of ours to join us. His name’s Art, and he’ll be here in a few minutes. I think you’ve met him before. Why don’t we finish our cake and chat while we wait for him? Do you have any hobbies you enjoy?”

  “Oh, yes, I do. I used to like wood carving, but my hands aren’t as steady as they once were. Monica thinks I might enjoy painting, even bought me some paints and brushes, but I haven’t really tried it yet. I like to cook, though. Do you think I could have the recipe for this cake? It’s very good. Is it hard to make?”

  “No, Douglas, not at all. I’d be happy to give it to you,” Meg said, her heart aching.

  And then a car pulled up outside, and Seth went out to greet Art and try to explain what had just happened while Meg calmly went on making conversation about nothing in particular. What had Douglas been like, before the Alzheimer’s? Had he and Monica been happy together? Did he have any idea where he was now, and how he’d arrived at this place? And what he’d done to Monica, with the best of intentions? It was all just too sad, and still she smiled and soothed and pretended. And Douglas was happy, for a little longer at least.

  A few minutes later Art came in, accompanied by a woman who Meg guessed was from one or another of the local social services agencies—Art must have had her on speed dial. “Seth explained,” Art said briefly to Meg, who nodded.

  Meg turned back to Doug. “Douglas,
this is our friend Art. He wants to talk to you for a little while, if you don’t mind.”

  “I’m glad of the company. Would you like a piece of cake, Art? Meg made it.” He smiled at Art, his expression without guile.

  Meg couldn’t take it anymore. She stood up abruptly and fled to the front door. Outside, she took deep breaths of the cold air, then sank to the granite stoop and fought tears. Seth joined her and wrapped an arm around her, and she turned and buried her face in his coat. “That poor man. He has no idea what he did.”

  “And if he’s lucky he never will.”

  “Art can find out who her doctor was, before they moved here, right? To confirm what he prescribed?”

  “Yes. But does it matter? However much Douglas gave her was too much.”

  “I’d like to know. I wonder how long Douglas has been going downhill. Did moving to Granford make it worse?”

  “I don’t think we can know, Meg.”

  “What happens now?”

  “We go home and let the authorities handle it.”

  “Then take me home.”

  30

  “We need to find some food,” Seth said after he’d driven a mile or two.

  “Oh. Right. You going to cook? Because I don’t really feel like it.”

  “Not a problem. You want to see if Gran’s is open?”

  “Hmm. Comfort food, no dishwashing. Worth a try. Is it already dinnertime?”

  “Well, it’s getting dark, and all we’ve eaten since breakfast is half a slice of cake. I think we can call it dinnertime.”

  “Nicky and Brian used to see Monica and Douglas in the restaurant, Nicky told me. That wasn’t very long ago. Has he changed so much in a couple of months, or does this thing come and go?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been close to anyone who’s had Alzheimer’s or dementia or anything like it.”

  “Nothing in your family?” When Seth shook his head, she said, “Good genes.”

  Seth gave her a quick look. “What about your side?”

  “Nothing hereditary or degenerative—not to be confused with degenerate. I think there were some shady uncles up the line. Will Art fill us in later?”

  “Probably. I don’t know if he’ll need more detailed information from us, about what Douglas said. I gave him the bare outline about the medications. If he gets jammed up, it might be tomorrow. I don’t know when he’ll tell Marcus.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t have any plans for tomorrow. How are the chicken coop plans coming along?”

  “I think we’ll be starting on shoring up the foundation this week. Can you handle mortar?”

  “Don’t know, but I’m game to try.”

  They pulled into the parking lot at Gran’s as the sun slid below the horizon. While there were few other cars in the parking lot, there were lights on inside, and the place looked welcoming. Seth got out of the car and waited for Meg to join him before they walked up the stairs. Inside there were in fact only a couple of other patrons, although it was still early. Nicky came out of the kitchen, drying her hands. “Hey, strangers! Seth, I haven’t seen you since the fair, and we didn’t get a chance to talk at all. You hungry? I haven’t made a special for tonight, but there’s plenty of nice hearty stuff, good for a cold night.”

  “Thanks, Nicky. We’ll take whatever you’ve got,” Meg replied gratefully. “We keep forgetting to shop, and I’m scraping the bottom of the freezer about now.”

  “Then you’ve come to the right place,” Nicky told her. She paused a moment to study Meg’s face. “You okay?”

  “Yes, just sad. I’ll fill you in over dinner, if you’ve got the time.”

  Nicky looked around the near-empty room and laughed. “I think my staff can handle the crowds. Sit down, and I’ll bring you something to nibble on. Wine?”

  “I’m driving,” Seth said, “but I think Meg could enjoy a glass.”

  “I know what you like,” Nicky said. “Be right back.”

  When she’d disappeared back into the kitchen, Meg asked Seth, “How much can we tell her?”

  “If it was someone else, I’d say not much. But this is Nicky, and we know she’s not a gossip. Plus I think it’s unlikely that there will be any charges filed, under the circumstances, so this may all become public sooner rather than later.”

  “Good. I hate to have to choose my words carefully. I don’t really want to think right now.”

  Nicky returned a few minutes later with a tray laden with warm bread, gooey cheeses, and various small and tasty-looking munchies, as well as a glass of pinot grigio for Meg. “I’ve got a great mushroom soup, and a country pâté recipe I’ve been experimenting with. Will that be enough for you? Or do you need some meat to chew on?”

  “It sounds great, Nicky,” Seth said. “Just keep this bread coming.”

  “Of course. I love baking bread in weather like this.” Nicky dropped into a chair between them. “So, what’s got you two so down in the mouth? Something wrong?”

  “Not with us, no. It’s about Monica’s death,” Seth said.

  Nicky’s smile disappeared. “You’re going to tell me you two have figured out who killed her? Can you talk about it, or are you sworn to secrecy?”

  Meg glanced at Seth, who nodded. “We decided it’s okay to talk about it, even though the police haven’t quite caught up with all the details, because nobody killed her. At least, not intentionally.”

  “Suicide?” Nicky raised one eyebrow.

  “No, not that, either, exactly,” Meg told her. “I don’t think she would have done that to her husband. We just came from there, and we talked to Douglas. Here’s what we believe happened.” Meg proceeded to outline the conversations they’d had over the past couple of days, with Art, and with Ginny and Al, and finally with Doug, in that last sad talk.

  “Wow, that is complicated. So you said Monica was already taking this colchicine stuff?”

  “That’s what Douglas told us.”

  “And Ginny gave her some more, but that wasn’t the full dosage, according to her husband.”

  “Right. But Monica might have upped the dosage if she thought it wasn’t working. She was really busy with the fair, and probably under a lot of stress.”

  “And Douglas was trying to keep on track with her meds and was slipping her extra when he thought she might have forgotten?”

  “Exactly. Except his sense of time, or maybe I mean what’s past and what’s present, is kind of disjointed, so he probably ended up giving her more than she needed. If he didn’t see her take her own, he might have believed he was helping her. If you add all this together, the result was an overdose.”

  “How awful,” Nicky said, shaking her head. “I guess the only positive side is that Douglas may never realize what he did.”

  “True,” Meg said. “You said they ate here now and then—what was your impression of him? Brian already told me his.”

  “He didn’t speak much. Monica usually did all the talking, although she tried to include him in any conversation. You know, saying stuff like, ‘Isn’t that right, dear?’ And he’d nod and smile. He was always pleasant. And he had a good appetite. They both did.”

  A waitress Meg didn’t recognize came out and deposited bowls of soup in front of Meg and Seth, and added a new loaf of bread to the table, along with a plate of sliced pâté.

  Nicky waited until she was gone, then said, “What happens now?”

  “I’m guessing a lot of paperwork,” Seth said as Meg dug into her soup. “Art or the state police will track down where the Whitmans came from, if they haven’t already, and see if they can identify Monica’s doctor, to confirm her medications and why she was taking them. She and her husband may have shared a doctor, or Douglas may have had a different one—he seems physically healthy. Of course we have no idea what their financial situation was. And I can’t
begin to guess who’s going to look after Douglas now. We can’t assume he can afford home health visits, and it would be better if someone was monitoring his mental health more closely on a day-to-day basis. Maybe a nursing home.”

  “Was he a veteran? There’s also the VA hospital.”

  “Something else the police can investigate. I’m afraid it’s out of our hands.”

  “That poor man,” Nicky said. “And I’m sorry it landed in your lap.”

  Meg looked down to realize her bowl was empty, and she was in fact feeling better. “So are we, believe me. I’m really looking forward to getting back to work in the orchard—something purely physical, and the worst thing I’ll have to worry about is insects and the occasional disease. And pruning. And watering. And fertilizing. And picking. And supervising Larry. Have you met Larry?”

  Nicky shook her head. “I don’t think so. From what you’ve told me, he doesn’t sound like a restaurant type.”

  “I’d agree with that, but I want to make sure he gets out now and then, makes some local friends. Maybe I’ll tell him to deliver our apples to you, and you can chat with him. It’s not good for any of us to hole up and avoid people. Has Seth told you that the two of them are going to convert what was once the chicken coop out back into a livable space?”

  “Ooh, no. Tell me more,” Nicky said, and the talk turned to other topics. Not much later, other patrons started to trickle in, and Nicky stood up. “I’d better get back to business. You want dessert? On the house.”

  “Sure,” Seth answered for both of them.

  “No apples, though,” Meg added. “I’m just not in the mood.”

  “Don’t worry—I’ve got a dynamite caramel pecan cheesecake.”

  When Nicky had left, Meg laid a hand on Seth’s. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Just being here. It’s good to know that I can feel sad without having to hide it or make excuses.”

  “Why would you even think of doing that? You knew Monica. You liked her. It’s a shame that she’s dead, in such an odd and unnecessary way. I’d worry if you didn’t feel sad.” He hesitated before going on. “You know the John Donne poem? No man is an island?”