Red Delicious Death (33 page)

Meg bristled. Mrs. Goldthwaite was presuming to give her advice on her love life? And worse, implying that Meg was some sort of charity case in Seth’s eyes? It took her a few moments before she could say in a reasonably level tone, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Goldthwaite.”

Mrs. Goldthwaite straightened up carefully and stepped back into the middle of the lane. “You think I’m meddling. But I’ve seen a lot in my eighty years. I’ve watched children like Seth grow up, become men. I’m glad he’s stayed in Granford, because we’ve already lost too many good young people, to college and to jobs elsewhere. That does not mean I approve of his opinions. I believe that he is misguided in his commitment to this restaurant idea, but for that I blame you. I do not think he would be half so supportive of it were you not involved. But apparently there is little I can do to change his mind, which saddens me. Forgive me, but I should be getting home. If I don’t keep moving, my joints stiffen up a bit.”

But before she turned away, she met Meg’s gaze and held it. “Meg Corey, you’re an intelligent young woman. I think we understand each other.”

Mrs. Goldthwaite turned and began to make her deliberate way toward home, leaving Meg standing flabbergasted, watching her retreating back. No, she most definitely did not understand what had just happened. What had Caroline Goldthwaite been trying to tell her?

“Meg!” A voice called out from behind her, and Meg turned to see Jake Kellogg walking toward her. “My wife said you were here somewhere, looking for me. What’s up?”

“Hi, Jake. I wanted to talk to you . . .” Mechanically Meg went through her now-rehearsed spiel about the restaurant cooperative. “And I wondered if you could provide pork. Seth also said you had a smokehouse?”

Jake cocked an eyebrow at her. “You sure those kids are going to want my pigs, after what happened here?”

Meg had wondered how to bring that up, and was glad that Jake had opened the door. “Maybe not right away, but down the road I’d say so. Seth says your pigs are the best around, and I think they’re looking for quality.”

“He’s right about that. Sure, I’d be happy to consider the idea, when you get the details hammered out. Let me know.”

Meg smiled at him. “I’ll do that, and thanks. Listen, Jake . . .”

“What? You still thinking about that boy, Sam?”

“It’s hard not to, standing here. You’re the one who found him, right? What time of day was it?”

“I came out here in the morning, after breakfast.”

“You come out here every day?”

“Pretty much. I like talking to the pigs. Easier than talking to my daughter. She’s sixteen.”

“Caroline Goldthwaite likes chatting to your pigs as well. She was here when I arrived.”

“Yeah, she’s out here almost every day. She’s one tough old dame.”

“Did you mention that to the police?”

Jake looked at Meg with consternation. “You think Mrs. Goldthwaite saw something? The killer, maybe?”

Funny how he’d jumped to the more benign conclusion
, Meg thought. “It’s possible. I’ll bet the state police don’t know that this lane runs right to her property, and that she likes to take walks.”

“Huh. You might have something there. You think I should tell someone?” He looked honestly concerned.

“I’ll do it,” Meg said. “It probably doesn’t matter much. Well, I should let you get back to your pigs, and I’ve got to get home myself. I’ll let you know when we get some sort of agreement put together with the restaurant.”

They said their good-byes and parted ways, as Meg turned to go back to her car. Maybe it was nothing, she thought as she walked along the dusty lane. Maybe she was reading too much into a coincidence, or maybe she just didn’t like Mrs. Goldthwaite and was happy to remove her as an obstacle to this restaurant project. Meg had to admit that she felt very proprietary about it, and she resented Mrs. Goldthwaite’s stubborn resistance. She had to be careful to separate her own personal hostility from the facts. Still, someone in authority should talk to Mrs. Goldthwaite about what she might have seen, or not seen, and when.

If she was lucky, Seth would tell her she was wrong about Caroline Goldthwaite. Caroline Goldthwaite could not be a killer. Could she?

Meg had been waiting for ten minutes, sitting on Seth’s back stoop and staring at nothing in particular, when he came home. She hadn’t known where else to go. She didn’t want to go home and face Bree, so she had sought out Seth’s house and had settled herself to wait for as long as it took. She had spent the time turning over in her mind what Mrs. Goldthwaite had said. Their conversation might have been brief, but it was the longest personal exchange they’d ever had. On the surface, everything Mrs. Goldthwaite said had been innocuous. So why couldn’t Meg shake the nagging feeling that there was something off-key?

“Hey there,” Seth said as he joined her on the stoop. “You look upset. Something wrong?”

She fought the urge to lean against him, to seek out personal comfort through the contact. “I’m not sure. I may be going nuts, so I want you to listen and tell me if I’m off track.”

“Okay. What’s this about?”

“Well”—she took a deep breath—“I went calling on the rest of the local markets, and after I got done, I had a little time left, so I thought I’d go talk to Jake Kellogg. He wasn’t at the house, but his wife said he might be out feeding the pigs, so I went looking for him. He wasn’t there, but Caroline Goldthwaite was.”

“Yeah, she lives out there,” Seth said absently, and then his expression changed. “Ah. You think she might have seen something? Did she mention anything like that?”

“No. She said she liked to take walks along the lane by the pigs, but that was all.”

“And?”

“Seth,” Meg said slowly, “I’m wondering why she didn’t come forward and talk to Art, or Marcus. She said she walked that way regularly, so she probably did the day Sam died—it was a nice day, right? Even if she hadn’t seen him or anyone else, she should have mentioned it, because it could narrow the time line down. Art might not have thought about it, and am I right in thinking that Marcus wouldn’t know how all the lanes connect around here? So he could have addresses for neighbors, but if he looks at a map, he’d have seen that Mrs. Goldthwaite’s house is maybe a mile or two away from where Sam was found. And the farm lane wouldn’t show up on the map, so he might not know it went all the way through.”

Seth wasn’t looking at her, but staring at the path at his feet. “I’m with you so far. But what are you saying? That Mrs. Goldthwaite had something to do with Sam’s death? Because she
didn’t
say anything?”

“This is where it feels like I’m out on a limb. But follow my thinking. One, I just found out from Gail that Mrs. Goldthwaite was born and raised in the former Stebbins house, now Nicky and Brian’s place. Two, she’s set in her ways and doesn’t like modern changes. She’s argued publicly against the restaurant.”

“I’d forgotten that she grew up there—before my time,” Seth mused. “Go on.”

“So Mrs. Goldthwaite doesn’t want to see a restaurant in her childhood home. Say she goes out for her constitutional, as she does every day, and she comes upon Sam admiring the pigs. She’d feel that he was invading her personal territory, wouldn’t she? First he and his friends take over her former home, and now he’s in her backyard, too.”

“Meg, where are you going with this?” Seth turned to look at her now.

“I think you can guess. Mrs. Goldthwaite runs into Sam, whom she already hates, even though she’s never met him. He’s been stung by a bee, and he’s in shock. She would recognize that. And she’s faced with a choice: she can go for help, or she can do nothing and see if Sam recovers. If he recovers and wonders why she didn’t act, she can just claim that she got flustered.”

“But that’s not what happened,” Seth said flatly.

“No, it’s worse. Remember the footprint? Oh, Seth—I think she helped him die.” She waited for his reaction. She was accusing his fellow board member, and a revered local citizen, of murder. It sounded crazy even to her.

Seth took his time in responding. “Say that’s true. Then, how? She can’t weigh more than half of what Sam did.”

At least he hadn’t dismissed her theory outright. “It wouldn’t have taken strength. Look, I was standing there today, and I could visualize it. Sam was tall, and he was weakened by the bee sting. It would have been easy to topple him into the pigsty.” Maybe with that walking stick she had seen her carrying?

“And he could have climbed out again.”

“Not if he was seriously weakened . . . and someone held him down.”

Seth studied her face. “You’re saying that Caroline Goldthwaite pushed Sam over the fence and then held him down until he died.”

Meg met his look squarely. “I think so. It’s possible. And I think at the very least someone has to talk to Mrs. Goldthwaite about it.”

Seth went on, “And she never told anyone anything.”

“No one ever asked. Everyone treats her as if she is beyond reproach. Seth, I know how unlikely this sounds, but it makes sense. Has Marcus identified any other suspects? No. Sam’s ex, Derek, has a solid alibi—plus, he wouldn’t have known the way to Jake’s farm or the pigsty. Nicky and Brian claim they don’t know where Sam was, and they didn’t know the farms around here any more than Derek did. Besides, Sam was a friend and they needed him for the restaurant, so what motive would they have had? Jake was the nearest person, but he and his wife were at work. But Mrs. Goldthwaite had motive and opportunity, and because Sam was already weakened, she had the means.” Meg took a breath. “Seth, tell me I’m crazy. Because I don’t want it to be Mrs. Goldthwaite.”

Seth put an arm around her and pulled her close, and she didn’t resist. She was surprised that her case had sounded stronger as she laid it out, and she was also surprised to realize that she hoped she was wrong. Accusing Caroline Goldthwaite of murder would send ripples through Granford, and it wouldn’t make Meg any more popular. She pulled away and looked up at Seth’s face. He looked . . . what? Sad? Grim? Angry? “Say something,” she said.

He sighed. “I hate that what you say makes sense. Still, I’ve served on the Board and on committees with Mrs. Goldthwaite for years. She may be old-fashioned, and she’s definitely strong-willed, but I have trouble seeing her as a murderer.”

“I’m not saying she planned it. Maybe she just acted without thinking.”

“The Caroline Goldthwaite I knew would have turned herself in afterwards. She believes in the law, in right and wrong, and in personal responsibility.” Seth sighed again. “Let’s talk to Art before we throw Mrs. Goldthwaite to the wolves. I owe her that much.”

Seth made the call, and he and Meg sat in silence together until Art drove up.

“You two look cozy,” Art said as he climbed out of his car. “What’s up?”

Seth stood up to greet him. “Pull up a chair. Meg’s got a theory about the murder, and you need to hear it.”

Art sighed. “So this really is business. Here I was looking forward to a beer.” He located a lawn chair and dragged it closer to the door. “Okay, let me have it.”

Meg repeated what she had told Seth, and Seth didn’t interrupt her. When she’d finished, Art didn’t say anything for several beats, watching a barn swallow diving for insects behind the house. When he finally spoke, he said, “Meg, you sure do make my life more interesting. I can’t say I buy all your assumptions, but there’s enough there that I have to check it out. I need to talk to Caroline Goldthwaite.”

“What about Marcus?” Seth asked.

“I’d rather see what Mrs. Goldthwaite has to say before I drag him into this. Maybe Meg’s read too much into this.”

“You want to do it now?” Seth pressed.

Art looked pained. “Won’t it keep until morning, Seth? You think she’s going anywhere?”

“Maybe there’s no rush, but I’d like to see this settled sooner rather than later. For all our sakes.” Seth stood up. “I should come with you.”

Art rose to his feet as well, with a sigh. “I guess you’re right. You coming, too, Meg?”

Meg also got up. “I’d rather not. You don’t need me there, do you?”

“No, we’ll be fine,” Seth said. “You go on home. I’ll come by later and tell you what happened.” He gave her a quick kiss, then climbed into Art’s car.

Meg watched them leave with mixed emotions. Part of her thought she should have gone with them. After all, she was the accuser, and she felt some obligation to confront Mrs. Goldthwaite directly. And maybe if she watched her deny it, she would believe her and everything would be all right. Which would leave them back where they had started, with no suspects and no resolution in sight. But if it turned out that Mrs. Goldthwaite was involved—Meg shied away from calling her a killer—what impact would that have on the town, and on the restaurant? And on her? She didn’t know; she couldn’t guess.

Slowly she made her way to her car and drove home. When she walked into the kitchen, Bree was there, cooking something that smelled good. Meg realized she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “Hey, Bree. That smells great.”