Authors: Gin Jones
Normally, Helen would have thought Adam was simply doing what he did best—imagining worst-case scenarios when there was a much simpler and less catastrophic explanation. In this case, though, he might not be getting ahead of the facts. Lily was usually good about staying in touch. Too good for Helen's taste sometimes since Lily acted like a helicopter parent instead of a niece, expecting to know and control every aspect of Helen's life.
Now that Adam mentioned it, though, Helen realized she hadn't heard from Lily in the last day or so either. Not even the usual check-in to confirm that Rebecca had stopped by the cottage as scheduled yesterday. Helen had been too distracted by the garden and the murder to notice until now.
"I'm sure Lily's just busy. A lot of her clients need extra hand-holding this time of year."
Adam nodded, but the tension in his face didn't fade. "If you talk to her, would you let me know she's okay?"
"Of course," Helen said, making a mental note to be the one to initiate contact with her nieces for once. She'd just have to hope the issue of accidents that turned out to be murder didn't come up.
"I'm sure you're not here to talk about our respective family members," Adam said. "What can I do for you today?"
"It's about the community garden."
"I thought as much," Adam said, sorting through a stack of files on his desk. "Do you want to read Fred Lawson's will? I got a copy of it for another client."
Probably Dale Meeke-Mason. Adam probably couldn't confirm it, due to client confidentiality, but Helen suspected that Dale wasn't relying exclusively on her behind-the-scenes negotiating or her political activism to make sure the town did what she considered the right thing with the land. She was undoubtedly checking her legal options too.
"Perhaps it would be better if you gave me a summary of the will. I wouldn't know what to look for in all the legalese."
"Sure." Adam opened the file he'd settled on. "It's pretty basic. The usual stuff about being of sound mind, and then there's the one specific bequest of the land. Here, let me read it to you.
I give, devise, and bequeath any and all land owned by me and located in Wharton, Massachusetts to the town of Wharton
. And then the next paragraph provides for the remainder of his estate to go to the American Cancer Society."
"That seems pretty straightforward."
"It is, if you don't know all the circumstances," Adam said. "When you factor in the history of the land's use, though, the language becomes ambiguous, and we need to figure out exactly what the decedent wanted. That's one of the challenges of estate planning. The client doesn't always know what's important when describing a bequest, and the lawyer doesn't always know the right questions to ask. It's possible that Fred had intended to have the land be used exclusively as a community garden, but all he said to the lawyer was that he wanted to donate the land to the town. Fred might not have thought to mention that the land was for a particular use, and the lawyer hadn't known that there was anything special about the property, so he'd just written a simple bequest without any restrictions on it."
"Then how do we prove that Fred Lawson wanted it used as a garden?"
"It wouldn't be easy," Adam warned. "It would probably require a trial, and that could be expensive."
Helen doubted Dale could afford the retainer. It might be possible to raise the funds from the garden club, but that would take too long. "I'd be willing to foot the bill if you think we have a reasonable chance of winning."
"I'm not sure I can even promise you that." Adam leaned back in his chair. "Plus, it could take years. You've probably read or at least heard about Dickens's
Bleak House
and the probate dispute that went on for generations. Getting a decision on the Lawson will wouldn't take that long, but it would definitely take more than a year, and could be as much as five."
"The garden can't be in limbo that long," Helen said. "Did you know that Detective Peterson has put up Jersey barriers to keep the gardeners out?"
"I can't imagine that would do much to deter them. I understand that their leader is known for her civil disobedience." Adam leaned forward, scowling much like Tate did whenever Helen wanted to do anything the least little bit interesting. "My uncle would never forgive me if I didn't warn you against taking the law into your own hands."
"I'm not planning on storming the barricades." Still, she couldn't help the little thrill she felt at knowing she could do it if she wanted now that she didn't need her cane all the time. "Hey, maybe that's how we can get the Jersey barriers taken down. They can't possibly be consistent with the Americans with Disabilities Act."
"I'm not an expert in ADA claims," Adam said slowly, "but what I do know is that we'd need to show that the town is preventing you from participating in the mainstream of American society. I'm not sure how being kept out of a crime scene would qualify."
"They're keeping me from the community garden that I paid my dues to use. And what could be more mainstream in American society these days than civil disobedience? Everyone should have the right to protest peacefully, but not everyone can climb onto or over the barriers to join in the protests. All we'd be asking for is access to the majority of the garden that isn't really part of the crime scene."
"It's a novel theory," Adam said, "but not one I'd be able to say with a straight face in court."
"Tate would have just told me I was being crazy."
"My uncle is retired and can say things like that," Adam said. "I've got overhead, including my new employee, so I can't scare off the paying clients."
"I don't scare easily."
"Good." Adam closed the file with Fred Lawson's will. "Unfortunately, I don't think there's much I can do for you, at least not in the short term. I'd be glad to file an appearance in probate court if you want, just to keep the will from being approved administratively. That would also keep open the option of filing a petition later to ask the court to interpret the will in favor of the community garden."
Those legal steps wouldn't get the Jersey barriers taken down or the title to the land settled quickly enough to do any good, but they were better than nothing. "Go ahead, and do what you need to do on behalf of the garden, and send me the bill."
She chose not to add to Adam's worries by telling him that, like Dale Meek-Mason, Helen wasn't about to sit back and count on the legal process to save the garden. After all,
un
like Dale, Helen didn't intend to break any laws. She was going to have to figure out who had killed Sheryl Toth. With the killer in jail, there'd be no valid reason to keep up the barricades, and then Helen was confident that Adam could convince Peterson to take them down.
Of course, that might not solve all of the garden's problems. If it turned out that the killer was somehow connected to the garden club, the selectmen would likely vote to sell the land out from under Helen's pea plants.
Dale Meeke-Mason might be a dedicated crusader, but she was also a civil servant, not someone who would be in her office at all hours of the day and night. By the time Helen left Adam's office intent on interrogating Dale again, it was well after 4:00, the closing time for town hall. Questioning her would have to wait until tomorrow.
Besides, Jack was muttering about how Helen had had a few eventful days and needed to take care of herself if she wanted to avoid either a relapse or the interference of her nieces. Sometimes it wasn't worth the effort it took to avoid well-meaning help, so she let Jack take her straight home. That didn't mean she was done for the day. After dinner, she would curl up with Vicky and read some more issues of
GreenPrints
as research into the psychology of dedicated gardeners and whether they might actually commit murder to protect their land.
Before Jack left, she arranged for him to pick her up again at 9:30 the next morning and then went inside the cottage to clear her own schedule for the rest of tomorrow. All she really had to do was to reschedule her appointment with Rebecca from the afternoon to first thing in the morning, but she also called Lily and Laura to find out why she hadn't heard from them lately. When neither one answered, Helen was both relieved that she didn't have to field any difficult questions from them about dead bodies and a bit concerned that the girls were both incommunicado. Usually, she could get one or the other to answer the phone or, if they were busy, to at least respond with a quick text. Helen left a voicemail for each of the nieces and then sent texts as well, asking them to call her when they had a chance.
She'd been particularly disappointed not to speak with Lily. Not just because of the promise to check on her for Adam but also because Helen had hoped to enlist Lily to do some research on Wharton Meadows' financial standing. It would be good to know just how much Wes Quattrone needed the expansion for the retirement community's long-term viability.
She still hadn't received a response from either Lily or Laura the next morning when, to Helen's dismay, she overslept and woke up a mere fifteen minutes before Rebecca was due to arrive.
Helen's intention to jump out of bed turned into more of a slow-motion struggle to get to her feet. She had to take a deep breath and accept that while she didn't have any time to waste, she'd only fall flat on her face if she pushed too hard. Better to be wearing her pajamas when she opened the door for the visiting nurse than to be wearing a collection of bruises.
Nevertheless, she managed to get dressed, brush her teeth, and feed Vicky before there was a knock on the front door. Helen noticed she was limping a little as she crossed the great room to let the nurse in. Maybe it was time to adjust her cocktail of meds a little. It wasn't unusual for the treatment to decrease in effectiveness over time and need adjustments to the dosages. She just hated having to leave Wharton and go into Boston for the lab work and consultations to decide on the new dosages. Especially when it was largely a matter of trial and error with no clear answers, so she'd have to go back for more tests and consultations every couple of weeks. All of that would have to wait until after she was sure that the garden wouldn't be sold while her back was turned.
Rebecca went about her standard collection of medical data, announcing at the end, "Your blood pressure is much better today."
Probably because she was still half asleep, Helen thought. Fortunately, Rebecca didn't seem to have noticed her patient's sluggishness. "I told you I'd be fine."
"Are you sure?" Rebecca frowned. "You've been awfully quiet today."
So much for putting anything past Rebecca.
"I'm not much of a morning person," Helen said, which was true even if it wasn't the whole story.
"Is there anything else we need to talk about?" Rebecca said. "More near misses with cars or other threats on your life?"
"Of course not," Helen said, starting to wake up enough to resent the implication that she was constantly throwing herself into danger. "All I did yesterday was visit some new acquaintances at Wharton Meadows, hang out at the garden, and have a chat with Lily's boyfriend. Nothing whatsoever that would affect my health."
Rebecca packed away her stethoscope. "What did you think of Wharton Meadows?"
"I thought it was a nice place to visit—especially the dining hall—but I wouldn't want to live there."
"It's not that bad," Rebecca said. "I've heard that the residents there are generally quite happy. It may not be perfect, but it can be the best compromise. Many of them have age-related cognitive impairments that make it impossible for them to live alone. Their family members don't always have the time or skills to take care of them. It can be a difficult decision when a loved one needs to leave his or her home for an assisted-living facility, but it's often best for both the patients and their families. I've seen too many situations where a family member ruined his or her own health trying to take care of a spouse or parent at home."
"I met someone recently who might be heading down that path," Helen said, thinking of RJ and the physical price he had to be paying for keeping his father at home. The sleep disruption alone could be devastating, as she knew from her experience with insomnia a few months ago. "I wonder if the new facilities offered by an expansion of Wharton Meadows would help him at all."
"Wes Quattrone spoke at a luncheon for local health care providers recently to let us know what he's got planned in the way of services for dementia patients, and he'd be offering some of them to residents and nonresidents alike." Rebecca closed her laptop, acknowledging that they were done discussing Helen's health. "I've got a number of patients who could use some of those specialized services, but they're just not available this far from a major city."
"So Wes Quattrone would be filling a real need, not just being greedy?"
Rebecca smiled. "In this case, it goes hand in hand. The services are needed, but they're also a solid profit generator. I don't know all the details of what he's planning or what the return on investment would be, but more and more of the medical continuing education programs I take are including some information on the costs of health care. The bottom line is that it can be expensive to set up a specialized clinic or install advanced equipment, but once the facilities are in place, they can generate huge profits, especially if there's no local competition. But the main reason it's profitable is because so many people need the services."
That wasn't what Helen had wanted to hear. It completely undermined her working theory that Wes Quattrone was a greedy bastard, willing to commit murder to advance only his own, personal interests. The situation was obviously more complicated than that. She was used to working on complicated issues from her time as the state's first lady. Political problems seldom had simple answers, no matter how much the politicians and pundits tried to convince the public otherwise.
Helen knew that life and, even more so, death were complicated. That didn't mean she had to like it. Or stop looking for answers.