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  Meg flinched at the harsh way Aaron referred to his family. Was he deliberately trying to antagonize Seth and her? But why would he do that? He didn’t even know them.

  “Were they supposed to be away from home?” Seth asked.

  “Hell, I don’t remember. I just kept my head down and talked to them as little as possible. And I’m pretty sure their date book burned in the fire, so I can’t prove anything.”

  “So what did the police chief do with you, then, that night?”

  “He had the paramedics check me out—or at least, that’s what I’m told, because I really don’t remember—and then he had me sit in the back of a police car, with a cop keeping an eye on me. And when it was pretty clear the house was past saving and nobody else was coming out, he had me taken down to the station to talk to me. I understand that I just kept saying, ‘lawyer,’ which I think pissed him off.”

  “Did you get a lawyer?”

  “Hell, I didn’t know any lawyers—I was seventeen. I didn’t know if I could even pay a lawyer, so I guess they handed me over to a public defender, who was kind of a jerk.”

  “When were you charged?”

  “Not until after the lawyer showed up, the next morning. I was about halfway back to sober by then. You ever come down from cocaine?” He looked at Seth and Meg, then shook his head. “Stupid question. Anyway, the high is great, but the low after really sucks. That’s what I woke up to. They told me my parents were both dead, and Gramma, in case I’d forgotten, and I had no place to live, and, oh, by the way, did I set that fire? And all I could say was, ‘I don’t remember.’ Which was true.”

  “And you’re telling us you got railroaded?” Seth demanded. Meg thought he sounded angry. Why?

  Aaron glared at him. “What the hell are you, an attorney?”

  “No, I’m a plumber, and a builder, and a town selectman. You came here, remember? I didn’t go looking for you.”

  “I came to thank Meg, not butt heads with you. You want me to leave, just say the word.” Aaron was actually showing some emotion, which was a first since his arrival.

  “Enough!” Meg said loudly. “Both of you, shut up.” Luckily for her they did, because she had no idea where she was going with this. “Aaron, I appreciate that you came here to thank me. I’m glad I found you alive, because I don’t want to think about the alternative. But I’m not sure how we ended up arguing about this, or what you think we’re supposed to do now.”

  “Nothing,” Aaron said. “Not one damn thing. You go back to your lives, and I’ll try to figure out what I’m supposed to be doing with mine now.”

  “Aaron, do you believe you were responsible for the fire?” Meg said softly.

  He gave her a long look. “I’ll admit I did some stupid things when I was a kid, but I never wanted to hurt anybody. I never wanted to kill anyone or anything. Hell, I’d take spiders outside and let them go. I never kicked a dog in my life. I want to believe that under all the tough-guy stuff I was a pretty decent kid, and I probably would have straightened myself out, if I’d had enough time. Am I wrong to want to believe that?”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t know you well enough to judge whether it’s true. When you got out, why did you come to Granford? What were you hoping for?”

  “I don’t know. I thought maybe being in the place might jog my memory. Or maybe I should say a final good-bye and put the town behind me—I never had a chance to do that, after the fire. The town looks pretty much the same, but there’s nothing left of the house, just a field with a bunch of shiny new houses on it. And like I said, I went to the cemetery. I wasn’t in any shape to go to the funerals after the fire, so I needed closure, I guess. To make sure it was real. That they’re gone.”

  “You aren’t on some sort of crusade to prove that you’re innocent?” Seth asked, but at least his voice was calmer.

  “If I am, it’s only for myself. Nobody else cares. I’m not looking to sue anybody, or get lots of publicity. I’d just like to know what really happened that night. If I did what they say I did, I’m prepared to live with that, and I’ve already paid the price. If I didn’t, then somebody’s guilty and they got away with it. But it’s not your problem.”

  Meg and Seth exchanged rueful glances. If—a very large “if”—they decided to help Aaron Eastman, it wouldn’t be the first time they’d been sucked into someone else’s problems, Meg thought. And Granford had seemed such a peaceful town—until she had scratched the surface. She was not as naïve as she had been when she arrived, but what did they owe Aaron? They didn’t know him. But wasn’t there some kind of weird popular myth that if you saved someone’s life, you were responsible for them forever after? Who’d made that one up? She did not feel responsible for Aaron’s well-being, mental state, future employment, or anything else. She had fed him, and she might offer him a place to sleep for one night, or maybe two. And that would be the end of it.

  Gail, quiet until now, spoke suddenly, startling Meg, who had all but forgotten she was there. “Aaron, you never explained what you were doing at the Historical Society. Why were you there? What were you looking for?”

  Aaron leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face with both hands. He looked tired, which wasn’t surprising. “A loose end that’s been bugging me from the start.” He leaned forward again, forearms on the table. “You know that my grandmother—my mother’s mother—died in the fire, right? She was the person I was closest to. She wasn’t a pushover, and she gave me grief when I went off the rails, but she always made it clear that she loved me, and I know that I loved her. Well, she’d moved in with Mom and Dad, maybe a year before the fire. Her mind was sharp, but she couldn’t handle stairs, and she needed help doing other things. The house was big enough that Dad could set off a kind of in-law apartment for her—connected to the house, but private, you know? She had an aide who came in half days, but Gramma ate her meals with us, and I’d spend time hanging out with her.”

  “Aaron, what’s this got to do with anything?” Meg asked.

  “I’m getting there. When Gramma moved out of her house, I helped her clean it out. You can probably guess what the place was like: she’d lived there ever since she married, and she wasn’t great about throwing stuff away. Not like a hoarder or anything, but there was a lot. I’d go over there, and we’d work together. I’d haul the boxes down from the attic, and we’d go through them, and she’d decide what to keep and what to toss. Gail, some of it was old family papers, and she wanted those to go to the Historical Society; Dad wasn’t interested in keeping them. I was the one who delivered them, to whoever was running the place back then. I was going to ask if you’d kept them and where they were.”

  “You want to see those?” Gail asked, clearly surprised. “Because I’d have to do some digging to figure out where they might be.”

  “Thanks, but it’s not just that. One thing I do remember. A couple of weeks before the fire, Gramma called me in and said she had a couple more boxes that should go to the Historical Society. She’d labeled them ‘Family Papers.’ I didn’t think much about it at the time. I just took them and handed them over. It was only afterward I realized that we’d done a pretty good job of sorting out all the family papers from her old house, so what the heck was in the new boxes?”

  “And you think that could have anything to do with . . . what happened?” Gail asked, incredulous.

  “I know it’s a long shot. But I remember thinking then that it was kind of odd. It could be nothing at all, or she could have slipped a few gears and put in all her old magazines, for all I know. But I’d like to see those boxes. If that’s possible.”

  Gail said, “You’ve arrived at an odd time. We just built a new storage area under the old building, which will give us room to assemble all the collections that people have been giving to the Historical Society since we first opened. The problem is, they’ve been scattered all over town, wherever so
meone had room to keep them. And our early record-keeping left a lot to be desired. Bottom line is, I’m not sure where a lot of the stuff ended up—I’m still trying to track down some of it. Worst case, someone could have forgotten what it was and thrown it out. I’ll look for your grandmother’s stuff—it sounds like there’s more than those last few boxes, although there’s no guarantee that any of it was kept together—but I won’t promise I can find it.”

  Aaron gave her a slight smile. “I’d really appreciate that, especially after I half scared you to death.”

  “And I nearly killed you with a vegetable chopper—which, by the way, is part of one of those wandering collections. So there’s a kind of logic to it all.”

  Aaron stood up, albeit a bit unsteadily, his fatigue showing. “I should get out of your hair. You’ve been very kind.”

  Meg shot a glance at Seth. “Where are you going, Aaron?”

  Aaron gave another shrug. “Not your problem.”

  Meg refused to believe that. “Aaron, you’re welcome to stay here and sleep on our couch, like Seth offered.” Seth gave her an odd look.

  Aaron hesitated before answering. “That’s more than kind, and I’m happy to accept. But what I really want is to take a shower.”

  It was Seth who replied. “No problem.” So he’d cooled off. Meg rewarded him with a smile.

  “Look at the time!” Gail exclaimed. “I’ve got to get home. Aaron, I’ll start looking for your stuff as soon as I can. But tomorrow’s Sunday, and I really need to spend some quality time with my family, after this week.”

  “No rush, Gail,” Aaron told her. “It’s already been twenty-five years. A couple more days won’t matter.”

  “Great. Meg, Seth, thanks for including me. Aaron, I’ll be seeing you again, I hope. Night, all!” She rushed out the back door, and Meg heard her car start up.

  “Let me go find some blankets and stuff,” Meg said. “We don’t use the front parlor much, so it’s chilly.”

  “I’ve slept in worse.”

  Meg and Seth spent a few minutes sorting out bedclothes and pillows and such, and then Seth walked Max, and Meg made sure Lolly had food. Meg directed Aaron to the shower, and she could swear that his eyes lit up at the sight of it . . . with a door that closed.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Meg?” Seth asked, once he heard the water running.

  “The man needs help. We can help. It’s that simple. Do you believe his story?”

  Seth didn’t answer right away. Finally he said, “God help me, I think I do. But you’re the one complaining about how many things you have to do. How did you manage to add looking into an old case of arson?”

  “Don’t ask me; these things just keep happening. If we’re lucky, Gail will find the files and there won’t be anything important in them, and Aaron will go . . . wherever.” And if we’re not lucky? Meg refused to consider that. “Can we go to bed now?”

  10

  Meg woke up with the sun and lay in bed worrying. Seth was right: why did she feel compelled to help some guy she didn’t know, who hadn’t been part of Granford for a quarter century, and who wasn’t exactly popular with the few townspeople who remembered him? Even usually affable Seth had been wary of him.

  But Meg believed Aaron. Stupid, Meg—now you’re going on gut instinct? She couldn’t see what he hoped to gain, other than peace of mind. Legally he was in the clear, since he’d served out his sentence. It seemed credible—barely—that the drugs had so addled his brain that he really didn’t know what had happened that night. He was prepared to acknowledge his guilt, but he wanted to fill in the blanks. That she could understand.

  Which left her with a couple of questions. One, why should she take this on? She had no obligation to him. Two, how on earth was she supposed to look into a crime that had taken place so long ago? The former police chief had retired long since, and Meg wasn’t even sure he was still alive. Would Art be willing to share whatever records he had? There would have been an arson investigation, but would that be included in that report? The Eastman house had been far enough outside of town that there were no near neighbors, and apparently no witnesses had come forward. Were trial transcripts available to random citizens like her? Could Art request them? Was that public defender still practicing? And why did she care?

  Because it was the right thing to do. It was an act of charity, of paying it forward. Sure, she was busy, but this could affect the rest of Aaron’s life, and her problems with menus and invitations seemed kind of trivial in comparison. So she’d ask Art what information was available and what he could share. And maybe Gail would find those wandering boxes, which might or might not provide information about some aspect of this. Odd, what the human mind retained—or didn’t: Aaron couldn’t remember the death of his parents, but he clearly remembered helping his grandmother pack up storage boxes.

  Seth stirred beside her. “Think Aaron’s still here?” he mumbled into the pillow.

  “I haven’t checked. What’re the odds?”

  “On the one hand, he must be exhausted, so he could still be asleep. On the other hand, maybe he realized what a wild-goose chase this is and lit out. On the third hand, maybe he’s telling the truth and he believes we can help him, which would mean he’ll be waiting for us downstairs.”

  “Unless you’ve got a fourth hand coming, I’m going to get up and worry about breakfast. I should get downstairs before Bree walks into the kitchen and discovers a stranger there.”

  “Good point. I’ll go start coffee and walk Max.” Seth swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

  “Did we have any other plans for today, before all this came up?” Meg asked.

  “Not really. We should go see Rachel. Maybe Mom will want to come along.”

  How sweet of Seth to want to check in on his sister, Rachel, Meg thought. Rachel had already had two kids, but the one she was expecting now was, well, kind of unexpected.

  Seth went on, “Rachel’s getting pretty close to her due date, and we might not get another chance. Once the baby comes, it’ll be a while before she can focus on a coherent conversation longer than two or three sentences.”

  Meg smiled. “And you know this why, Seth Chapin?”

  “I’ve seen her with the first two, remember? Having a baby does something weird to your hormones. See you downstairs!”

  Meg stretched like a cat, but when she heard two male voices downstairs, she decided she should get moving and join them. She dressed quickly and went down the front stairs. In the parlor, the blankets Aaron had used were neatly folded, the pillow laid on top. When she reached the kitchen, she was confronted by a sight of unexpected domesticity: Aaron sat at the table, a coffee mug in front of him, Lolly the cat settled on his lap, and Max sprawled on the floor at his feet, his gaze alternating between the stranger at the table and the pan of bacon Seth was frying.

  “Good morning!” Meg said, helping herself to coffee. “Looks like you’ve made some friends here.”

  “I like animals. Mom would never let us have any; she said she had allergies. My theory is she didn’t want any animals messing with the antique furniture.”

  “Well, as you’ve probably noticed, what furniture we have has seen better days, so those two can’t do much harm. Did we tell you that my orchard manager lives upstairs, too? So if you see a young woman at the door, that’s probably her. She was at her boyfriend’s last night.”

  “Got it. So she doesn’t know about me yet. Your police chief didn’t make a big deal about what happened in town?”

  “At the Historical Society, you mean? No, and he doesn’t jump to conclusions. But some people may have seen the ambulance.”

  “Food,” Seth said, setting plates of bacon and eggs on the table, then another plate with a stack of toast.

  “This looks great,” Aaron said, and dug in eagerly. Meg avoided staring, but in reviewing wh
at he’d said, how he’d acted, since he arrived, she thought that whoever had taught him manners as a child had done a good job, and apparently prison hadn’t erased it all. He was well-spoken, too. How had he survived prison? Where had he been? Not that knowing the name would tell Meg much—she had zero familiarity with the Massachusetts prison system. Had Aaron been considered violent? She had no idea. He had no visible tattoos or scars, she noted, and then laughed inwardly at herself. Apparently she’d been watching too many sensationalized television shows. Were all prisons rife with gangs and drugs and violence and corruption? She couldn’t exactly ask Aaron over the breakfast table.

  After the food had disappeared, Aaron leaned back and stretched, dislodging Lolly. “That was great. Thank you. I should be going.”

  “At the risk of sounding rude,” Meg said, “where are you going?”

  Aaron shrugged. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “You need to stay in Granford for as long as it takes to find those records, right?”

  “Maybe. There may be nothing there, and I don’t want to get my hopes up. I just think it’s weird that that detail sticks out in my memory. Of course, if you’re doing drugs, your brain isn’t always rational.”

  “Why do you think that sticks out?” Seth asked, refilling his coffee cup.

  Aaron thought for a moment. “Well, like I said, I thought we’d finished with all Gramma’s papers, before she moved in with us. And then, I guess I thought she was acting kind of funny when she asked me to take the new stuff to the Historical Society.”

  “Funny how?” Meg asked.

  “I don’t know . . . kind of guilty, maybe? I mean, Gramma was usually pretty direct; she didn’t let anybody get away with BS, and she was good at seeing right through me if I tried to lie to her. So even though my brain was kind of foggy, I got the impression that there was something peculiar going on with those particular boxes. But I couldn’t tell you why.”