One Bad Apple (32 page)

There was a moment of startled silence, followed by a roar of voices as everyone started talking at once. Meg stayed at the microphone, but she realized she was trembling, and she was strongly tempted to grab the microphone stand for support. The moderator was pounding on the podium, trying to restore order.

“Quiet, please!” He waited a moment for the storm to subside. “Ms., uh, Corey, is it? That is an extraordinary statement. And as far as I know, this is not the appropriate time or place to raise such an issue. We are here to discuss a community project, not fling unfounded personal accusations.”

Meg found her voice. “Excuse me, but this does have an immediate bearing on the future of that project. And it is not unfounded. There is evidence that suggests that Cinda Patterson was involved in Chandler Hale’s death.” Meg fought a childish desire to cross her fingers, because she knew just how flimsy her evidence was. But her goal now was to delay the vote, to allow time to find out if Cinda had been involved; proof could come later.

The uproar surged, louder than before; the moderator’s pounding did little to quell it. He looked helplessly at the police officers posted at the doors and they began to move, slowly and deliberately, toward Meg. As she watched their advance, she leaned again toward the microphone. “I will be happy to share that evidence with the proper authorities.”

Conscious of the looming presence of the officers, Meg looked at the cluster of people at the front, first at Seth, then at Cinda. Meg couldn’t read Seth’s expression, but he didn’t look surprised. Cinda, on the other hand, appeared headed for an explosion.Unlovely red blotches mottled her china-pale complexion; her teeth were clenched, her nostrils pinched as she tried to control her rising rage. Very unattractive. Meg decided to take another poke at her, while she had the chance—before the police officers dragged her away. “Ms. Patterson, would you care to respond?”

Cinda’s knuckles were white on the microphone she gripped. When she finally managed to speak, her voice was shrill. “Of course I do! How dare you say something like that? I … I … I’ll sue you, for defamation of character, libel, whatever! Chandler was a friend and colleague.”

“He was more than that, wasn’t he, Ms. Patterson?” Meg kept her eyes on Cinda, ignoring the hubbub around her.

The moderator had resumed his frantic pounding on the podium, until the head of his wooden gavel broke off and went flying. Then he started yelling into his microphone. “Ms. Corey, I must ask you to leave immediately. This line of discussion is not appropriate for this meeting.” He nodded to the police officers.

Seth stood up, holding the table microphone. “Oh, let her talk. I think we can pretty well assume that the business part of this meeting is over, and I believe a lot of people here want to hear what she has to say.” Several members of the audience yelled out encouragement, while others booed. The officers halted, confused. The moderator threw up his hands. “Hell, go ahead. This is a disaster anyway.”

Seth nodded toward Meg. “Go on.”

Meg wasn’t sure who she was supposed to be addressing at this point, so she kept her eyes fixed on Seth. “You all know who I am, mostly because Chandler Hale’s body was found on my property in Granford. It’s no secret that I had a prior relationship with him, but what you don’t know is that Cinda Patterson also had a romantic relationship with Chandler Hale. That in itself is not an issue—what people do in private is their own business— but when it ended, she was afraid that she would be forced off this project, maybe even lose her job with Puritan Bank. She wasn’t going to sit back and take that, so Chandler had to be … removed.”

“Have you gone to the police?”

“Why hasn’t she been arrested?”

“How’d she do it?”

A jumble of voices threw out questions. Meg grabbed at the only one for which she had an answer. “The state police think I’m a suspect in his death. But so is Cinda Patterson, or she should be. Her motives were a lot better than mine. Cinda was with Chandler the night he died, and the police have proof of that. Before you endorse the Granford Grange project tonight, with her as its manager, I’d like to know what she’s hiding.”

And then the eyes in the room shifted to Cinda, who had regained control of her emotions. She spoke with an unsettling icy calm. “Ms. Corey, I feel sorry for you. You didn’t mention to this crowd that it was Chandler Hale who ended your relationship with him. And as for my relationship with Chandler—which as you rightly point out is none of your business—we were professional colleagues first and foremost, and we both wanted this project to work. I think everyone here should look closely at your own motives.”

Meg regarded her levelly. “No, Cinda, that’s not the whole story. You and Chandler were involved, and then Chandler got tired of you, just like he got tired of me. It was over, and you couldn’t accept that. You don’t like to lose, do you? And you saw the chance to take over the whole development deal, make a name for yourself at the bank, and take your revenge on Chandler, all at once. Great package, huh? No one said you weren’t smart.”

The room had fallen silent as everyone focused on the interchange, fascinated by the soap opera unfolding before them. Finally Seth abandoned his place at the table, strode to the moderator’s central podium, and spoke into the microphone. “I think we will all agree that the article on the warrant is not going to come to a vote tonight. If there’s any shred of legal structure left to this meeting, I move that we indefinitely postpone the article until the selectmen can determine a date for a continuation of this meeting. Do I have a second?”

Several people shouted out “second” at the same time. The moderator nodded at Seth and leaned toward the microphone. “Voice vote. Yeas?”

A surge of voices shouted “yea.” It was clear that no vote for the nays would be needed.

“The motion for postponement passes. The selectmen will determine when we will reconvene. Please, all of you, go home now and let us sort this out.”

Seth glanced toward the police officers flanking Meg as she stood forlornly in the middle of the aisle. Meg wondered briefly if what Seth had just done carried any legal weight. But what did it matter? People would be sorting out tonight’s events for years to come. Right or wrong, she’d given them a new piece of local mythology.

And at the same time, shocked herself. Never in her safe and tidy life had she stood up and spoken out in public like this, especially with such flimsy grounds. Of course, how often did anyone have the opportunity to accuse someone of murder, much less publicly? If she hadn’t been so horrified, the whole thing might have seemed funny to her: she had certainly found a way to introduce herself to a lot more people of the town. Although right now they might be more inclined to tar and feather her than to welcome her with open arms.

The crowd rose uncertainly, grumbling among themselves, then began to trickle out. Several people slid by Meg, avoiding looking at her; others stared openly as they passed. As Meg watched, Seth approached Cinda and leaned close to say something to her. For once, Cinda didn’t turn on the charm. She said something, and Seth responded calmly, gesturing toward the waiting police. She looked their way, then back at Seth, and nodded once, her neck stiff. She summoned her assistants to gather up her computer and the projector, and Seth escorted her up the aisle until they were standing close to Meg.

“I think we should take this out of here, don’t you?” Seth said.

Meg met Cinda’s eyes. “By all means. I’m happy to talk with the police.”

Art Preston finally pushed his way against the tide of the departing crowd. “Ladies, why don’t you come with me? Oh, not together. Collins, why don’t you take Ms. Corey here, and Ms. Patterson can ride with me.”

“Are you taking us into custody?” Meg demanded.

“No, Ms. Corey, nothing like that. I just thought the station would be an appropriate place to sit down and talk this through. You have a problem with that?”

Cinda had her temper under control, but her flushed skin betrayed her. “This is outrageous! You can’t do this to me, based on nothing but the wild accusations of this … woman.”

“I’m afraid we can, ma’am. In fact, we have to. An accusation has been made, and there’s enough credibility that we need to follow up. The sooner you talk with us, the sooner we can get it all cleared up. Right?”

Meg squared her shoulders. “No problem, Chief.”

“Well, then, let’s go, before it gets any later.”

“Art, I’m coming with you.” Seth’s interruption startled Meg.

“No need, Seth,” Art answered.

“I think I’d better.”

“If that’s what you want.” Art shrugged. “Ms. Patterson?” Cinda gave Meg one last hostile glare, then stalked toward the door, with Preston following in her wake. Officer Collins hovered, unsure of his next move: Meg wasn’t exactly a prisoner, but the police chief had said to take charge of her.

Seth stepped up. “It’s okay, Gus. I just want a word with Ms. Corey. She’s not going to cut and run. Are you, Meg?”

“Of course not. I want this cleared up as much as anybody.” After another confused look, Collins turned and took a few deliberate paces toward the nearest exit door, then stopped and turned to watch them.

“Meg, do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Seth demanded.

No, not really.
“Yes. I’ve derailed the development project until we can figure out who killed Chandler.”

“Well, this isn’t the best way of doing it. Do you have anything more than you did a few days ago?”

Meg looked at him for several seconds. He was right: she didn’t have a leg to stand on, just a lot of vague suspicions, even if they all pointed in one direction. But at least she had bought some time. “No,” she admitted.

He shook his head. “Look, we’d better get going. It may be a long night.”

Meg nodded and turned to leave, Seth close behind. She had no idea what Seth was thinking. She had come waltzing in out of nowhere and made a flogging mess of things, on his home turf. Well, time to go lay out what she knew to the police and let them laugh at her. She knew how full of holes her theory was, but she had to follow through. She knew in her gut that Cinda had been involved, and she wasn’t about to let her get away with it, not without a fight. Granford deserved better. But how could she get Cinda to implicate herself? She’d been pretty damn careful so far.

Officer Collins waited silently until Meg climbed into his police cruiser. She had to give the police credit; they weren’t taking any chances until they had heard both of their stories and could make a guess who the good guys or bad guys were. Gals. Whatever. She sat silently in the rear seat as they drove the short blocks to the police station. She felt powerless, dragged along by the process she had started without any idea where it was going to end up.
Damn it, Meg, what’s wrong with you? Chandler died, and you want to see that avenged. Fine. You think Cinda did it. Less fine, but that’s what you believe. Now you’re about to go head-to-head with the lovely Cinda—smart, sophisticated, determined Cinda.
Who would stop at nothing to get her own way. And, she had to admit, Cinda could point to plenty of evidence that Meg had as much reason to kill Chandler as she did. The same reasons, in fact: Chandler had toyed with her and dumped her. And that had driven her to the wilds of Granford—or so Cinda would claim. Maybe she should admire Cinda: Cinda had stood up for herself and sought revenge, had acted instead of running away. Maybe murder was a little extreme, but at least Cinda didn’t lack self-esteem.

Meg reviewed the facts in her mind.
Keep it simple. Tell them what you know, and what you think happened.
And Meg knew she was right, and hoped in her heart of hearts that when faced with the truth, Cinda would crumble.

So why didn’t she believe that was going to happen?

It was probably too much to hope that Seth would support her, even though his word would carry a lot more weight with the police than hers would. But at least the chief of police was willing to listen—and the Town Meeting had been postponed.

They had arrived at the police station. As Officer Collins helped her politely out of the backseat, Meg stole a look at her watch. Was it really only nine? How long were they going to be here? Would they put them all together or interview them separately, like on television? Did the Granford station even have more than one interrogation room? Maybe they’d have to go someplace else, like the church or town hall or even the historical society. Meg suppressed a hysterical giggle at the mental image of giving a statement under the glassy stares of all those long-dead animals.
Get a grip, Meg!

Officer Collins led her to a small room with a table and two chairs. She sat down and listened to Cinda’s voice raised in obvious displeasure, out in the hall; she couldn’t hear any words, but her tone was clear. Chief Preston came in and shut the door behind him.