One Bad Apple (28 page)

How dare he?
That was Meg’s first thought, her anger blossoming. The town hadn’t even approved the deal, and this jerk was already laying asphalt over her orchard. She struggled to speak calmly. “Excuse me, Jack, but the project hasn’t been approved yet. Aren’t you being a little premature?”

A flicker of doubt appeared in Jack’s eyes, and he looked briefly at Cinda. “Way I understood it, it’s pretty much a done deal. All over but the paperwork.”

Cinda looked nervous. “Well, Jack, that might be overstating it a little, but things look pretty good. Right, Meg?”

Meg declined to answer Cinda’s question. “Jack, what’s your interest here? And these other men? Do they work for you?”

“Tri-County Asphalt and Paving—that’s my company. Biggest paving contractor in this end of the state.” He fished in his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. “I could give you a good deal on your driveway down there—looks like you could use some help with it. We’re bidding on the job, just wanted to get a look at what we’d be dealing with. It’s not the same, looking at a map.”

Cinda was still looking at Meg with concern. “Meg, this is still preliminary. But I’m just thinking ahead. It’s important to get in touch with local suppliers, let them know what’s in the pipeline, so they can plan ahead. That way, everybody benefits, and we can get the project rolling quickly. Right, Jack?”

“Yes, ma’am. I guarantee we’ll do a good job for you.” Jack smiled down at Cinda, clearly besotted. And his verb tense didn’t escape Meg: he was talking as if he knew he had a lock on the contract. Who else had Cinda been talking to? She was making it plain that this project was a sure thing, wasn’t she?

“You didn’t introduce me to these other gentlemen, Cinda,” Meg said, her voice level.

“Oh, sorry—where are my manners? This is Al Kozinski— he’s a general contractor, does a lot of work on commercial projects around here.”

A second man stepped forward to shake Meg’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. We did that pretty little strip this side of Hadley—maybe you’ve seen it?”

Cinda pressed on. “And this is Irv Janssen—he supplies building materials. And he’s promised us a very good price. Right, Irv?”

“Sure thing. Good to meet you, ma’am,” he said to Meg, taking her hand in turn. “Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of you over the next year or two.”

Meg managed to produce an insincere smile. “Perhaps. Cinda, may I have a word with you?”

“Of course. Excuse me, gentlemen?” She looped her arm through Meg’s and walked a few paces away. “Problem?”

Meg extricated her arm. “Yes, I do have a problem. I don’t appreciate that you’re already dragging a construction crew around and that you didn’t even ask my permission to come onto my property. As far as I know, there is no guarantee that this proposal of yours is going to pass, and I’d prefer if you waited until it does to start rolling asphalt.”

Cinda’s gaze was cool, and Meg wondered if she saw lurking hostility in it. “I’m sorry, Meg. Perhaps I overstepped my bounds. And you are certainly within your rights. But I thought you were in favor of this going forward?”

Meg looked her squarely in the eye. “Cinda, I haven’t decided. There are a lot of factors I have to consider, and I don’t intend to be rushed into a decision.”

When she responded, Cinda’s voice was edged with contempt. “Frankly, Meg, I don’t think your one vote is going to make a lot of difference. I believe we have the votes we need. Chandler and I laid the groundwork carefully for this, believe me. But we’re almost done here. And let me tell you—we
will
be back next week.” Cinda turned away from Meg and rejoined the group of men. They were clustered awkwardly, stamping their feet to keep warm, and they avoided looking at Meg. “Gentlemen, you said something about access roads?” Cinda said brightly.

The men wavered, unsure of what was happening. But apparently they answered to Cinda, not Meg, and after nodding silently to Meg, they turned back to Cinda and began pointing toward the distant highway.

Meg’s anger continued to simmer. Cinda had just insulted her in front of her cadre of builders. Unfortunately, Cinda was right: if the town approved the project, they’d be back with their backhoes and dump trucks as soon as the paperwork cleared. Spring was coming, and they’d want to start construction as soon as possible. And the apple trees would never bloom again.

Depression washed over her. Meg turned abruptly and went back down the hill. When she reached the front of her house, she was surprised to find a Chapin Plumbing truck in the driveway, but it was Stephen who was leaning against it, waiting for her, rather than Seth.

“Hi, Stephen. What’s up?”

Stephen took a bite of the apple he was eating, chewed, and swallowed it before answering. “Seth said he left a sink in your barn—he thinks he’s got a buyer for it. Asked me to pick it up.”

“Oh, right, I’d forgotten. Sure, but I’ll have to get the key to the barn padlock. It’s inside.”

Stephen didn’t move from his slouch against the van. He nodded toward the direction from which she had arrived: Cinda and her pals were still visible. “What’s that all about?”

Meg laughed bitterly. “Oh, just the new head banker and her construction cronies, carving up my land.”

Stephen continued watching them, a half smile on his face. “Things’re really moving right along, aren’t they?”

“I’m not sure I’m happy about that,” Meg replied tartly. “And it’s not guaranteed that the town will vote for the project, you know.”

“Maybe not. But I think she’s doing a good job. Good deal for the town, too.”

Meg had her doubts about Stephen’s affection for Granford. On the other hand, maybe he thought there was something in it for him. There was, of course, the money that the land sale would generate, some of which would flow to him. Would he take it and leave town?

After a few more moments of watching, he turned back to Meg. “Hey, how about that sink?”

“Sure. Hang on a sec.” Meg fled eagerly through the back door. The padlock key hung on a nail next to the door. She grabbed it and went back outside, leading the way to the rickety barn. She opened the padlock, then let Stephen pull open the sagging door. He’d pitched his apple core at the edge of her driveway, which annoyed her.

“That’s gotta be the one,” Stephen said, pointing to a Victorian pedestal sink lurking in a dim corner. He lifted it easily and carried it to the van, slamming the door shut. “I’ll get the barn door for you. Thanks for letting Seth use the space.” He swung the creaking wooden door back into place and waited while Meg threaded the lock through the hasps again and closed it.

“So you don’t have room at your place?” Meg asked, struggling for something safe to say.

“Nah, Seth just keeps collecting more and more. Don’t know why he bothers with this old stuff, but some people like it. No accounting for taste.”

“You don’t like historic restorations?”

Stephen made a noise that sounded like a horse’s sneeze. “Pfah! Penny-ante stuff. You want to make any money in this business, you’ve gotta go for volume. Housing developments, office buildings, that kind of thing. Not this one-house-at-a-time crap that Seth’s into.”

“There hasn’t been a lot of that kind of construction around here for quite a while, has there?”

“But that’s going to change, right? Granford Grange first and then maybe some housing complexes. Things are gonna be different soon, and I aim to be part of it.” He pulled back his sleeve and looked at his watch. “Shoot, gotta go. Thanks again for storing this stuff.”

“No problem. Oh, Stephen, is Seth around?”

“He’s on a job over toward Belchertown—new construction, probably take all day. That’s why he wants the sink, to show to the owners before he goes any further. Want me to give him a message?”

“No, thanks. I just had a question. It’ll keep.” She forced herself to smile.

“Right. Bye, then.” Stephen slammed the van door and pulled out, leaving Meg staring after him, her mind racing. She leaned against the barn door and watched the van disappear toward the highway, then walked slowly back toward the house.

Stephen had answered a question she hadn’t even known she had. He clearly hated the family plumbing business—and working for Seth?—and had visions of bigger, better things. And he had offered one more reason for Seth to recuse himself from the town’s vote: not only did he stand to profit from the sale, but it could boost his business substantially. Funny, Seth hadn’t mentioned it. So why wasn’t Seth more enthusiastic?

Meg picked up Stephen’s discarded apple core and took it inside to throw away. Her brain kept churning. She had too many bits and pieces that didn’t fit together, and new ones kept popping up. Like Chandler coming on to half the women of Granford: who knew how many had fallen for his charm? And she had no way of knowing which ones might be capable of murder, although the list kept growing. And what about Cinda? Cinda had been with Chandler on the night that he’d died, after he had had drinks with someone. Was she that someone? If not, had Chandler told her who it was? Had she told the detective?

On the other hand, why would she have killed him? Based on what Meg had learned about her, Cinda was too smart to act out of anger over Chandler splitting with her. Unless, of course, he had planned to dismiss her from the Granford project and send her back to Boston. Cinda wanted to run this project—that much was obvious. How much control would Chandler have given her? And was managing Granford Grange enough of a motive to kill?

At the end of the day, edgy and frustrated, Meg made herself a cup of tea and, leaning on the countertop in the kitchen, contemplated the Great Meadow outside her window. Fancy name for a swamp. How appropriate: she felt as though she were wading through a swamp, trying to find a path, and she kept sinking deeper into it. Still, the view was soothing even at this bleak time of year. She shut her eyes and willed herself to relax, to think clearly. An occasional car passed on the road. One slowed, then pulled into her driveway with a crunch of gravel. She opened her eyes and saw Seth emerging from a car. He rapped at the back door, and she opened it.

“Hi, there,” Seth said with his usual good cheer. “Stephen said you had a question? I was on my way home and thought I’d swing by. And I’ve got some information to pass on, although you’ll have to tell me what it means.” Then he took a harder look at her. “You all right?”

Meg sighed. “Just tired. Come on in.”

Seth shut the door behind him and shucked off his coat, hanging it over the back of a kitchen chair. He stopped again, eyeing Meg curiously.

Meg realized he was waiting for her to do something. “Oh, sorry. Sit, please.”

He sat down at the table, still watching her.

Meg poured two mugs of tea and sat across from him. “Why don’t you go first?”

“Okay. I had a little chat earlier today with Art.”

“And?”

“Detective Marcus is keeping him in the loop on the investigation, as a professional courtesy. He said you’d given something to the detective, something about a book?”

That’s right, she hadn’t had a chance to mention that to Seth. “Sorry—I haven’t talked to you since, have I? When I had lunch with Cinda yesterday, I found a book that I had loaned to Chandler the day he was here. I’d forgotten all about it, but I recognizedit when I saw it in Cinda’s room. She said Chandler had given it to her.”

“So?”

“It wasn’t the book that was important, it was the bookmark. There was a receipt inside, a credit card slip with a time stamp for the night Chandler died. And it was for a lot of drinks, more than Chandler would have had alone, so I figured there was someone with him. I took it to the detective as soon as I left Cinda’s, and he said he’d look into it. I’m glad to see that maybe he did. So what did he tell Art?”

“Okay, now what Art said makes more sense. He told me that the detective had the place checked out and found the server, who remembered Chandler. And he said Chandler did have a companion, and it was a woman.”

“Could he identify her?” Meg said.

Seth shook his head. “The server was a guy, but … to be blunt, he was more into men than women. So he remembered Chandler very well, down to his cuff links, but he couldn’t remember much of anything about the woman, except that she was maybe thirtyish and had dark hair, kind of shoulder length. The description was too vague to be much use. It was late, and the place was dark, and he was coming off a long shift … You get the picture.”

“Too bad,” Meg said glumly. One more dead end. Cinda in a wig? Not likely.

They drank their tea in silence for a few moments. Finally Meg said, “Seth, is there anyone else you can think of who wants to stop this project?”

He shook his head. “You think I haven’t been over this in my head? Sure, there are lots of people who care a lot, but nobody I can think of who would be willing to kill someone. Is that how they do business in Boston—eliminate the opposition?”

Meg ignored his jibe. “What about someone that Chandler had promised something to and reneged on, or hadn’t been willing to promise anything to?”

“Meg, you’re not making a lot of sense.”

She was beginning to feel desperate. “Seth, Chandler was a user. He used people, women in particular, to get information, and to do that he flattered them and wooed them and made them feel special, maybe even slept with them—and then dropped them when he had what he wanted.”

“Are you talking about anyone in particular? Like, you, for instance?”

Meg shook her head hard. “No, not me. But we didn’t last, as you know. Maybe that was part of the problem with us—I wasn’t much use to him.”

Seth’s expression hardened. “Cinda?”

“Yes, Cinda. I talked to a friend of mine in Boston, and she said they were a couple. That surprised me, because Chandler liked to keep his private life and his professional life separate.”