Bitter Harvest (19 page)

“I’ll do it. This is my problem, not yours.” Before Meg could change her mind, she grabbed the handset of the phone and walked into the dining room for privacy. The police chief was in his office, and she was put through quickly.

“Hey, Meg, what’s up?” Art Preston asked.

“Hi, Art. Look, I need to talk to you. Do you think you could stop by the house?”

There was an unexpected silence. “Actually, I was already thinking of doing that, on my way home. There are some questions I need to ask you. Are you alone?”

“No, Seth’s here, and so’s Bree.”

“I guess that’s all right.”

Meg was getting a bad feeling about his reticence. “Art, what’s going on?”

“It’s complicated. Look, I can be there in about fifteen minutes. Will your problem keep that long?”

“I think so. We’ll see you then.” She ended the call, feeling bewildered. When she walked back into the kitchen, both Seth and Bree turned to look at her. “He’s coming by in fifteen minutes. He said he had planned to come over anyway. Seth, you have any idea what’s going on?” Seth shook his head. “Maybe I’m just overreacting, but he sounded kind of funny on the phone. But apparently it’s nothing urgent, so we’ll just have to wait and see. I think I’ll take a shower—I smell like goat.”

“And I thought I was being so tactful,” Seth said, smiling. “Bree, I brought your tire back. Want to put it back on?”

 

 

Meg was clean
and dry when Art showed up. He came around to the back door, nodding at Bree, who was laboring over the tire and cursing. Did his back-door entrance mean that it was a friendly visit? Meg wondered. “Coffee?” she offered, once he’d hung up his coat.

“Please.” He dropped into a chair at the table, nodding to Seth, who sat down opposite. Meg poured coffee silently, amused by the solemnity of the two men. She set the mugs down and sat between them.

“You want to go first, Art?” Meg began.

“I guess. You remember you came by the station on Monday and told me about that problem you had with your car in the parking lot in Holyoke?”

“Sure. You said not to do anything formal. Have you changed your mind?”

“It’s not about that, or at least, not directly. What time did this incident happen?”

“Before lunch? I came straight to your office from there, since it was more or less on the way home.”

Art nodded, once. “Did you see anything unusual in the parking lot?”

“No, except the giant mounds of snow.” Meg tried to remember the setting, even while she wondered why Art wanted to know. “The parking lot was crowded—I guess a lot of people just wanted to get out of their houses after the storm. Because of all the snow, the cars were parked every which way. It was crowded inside, and I had to wait in line for a while. That’s about all I remember. Oh, and when I came out I saw that somebody had slipped and fallen on the snow, but there were plenty of people helping him. What should I have seen?”

Art looked into his coffee, rather than at Meg. “Apparently there was an argument in the parking lot between a man and a woman, about the same time as your fender incident. She stormed off and pulled out in a hurry, and he headed into the store. I had to wonder if maybe one or the other had seen what happened. “

“Was the guy who slipped the same one who was arguing with the woman? Do you know who he is?”

“I do now, because he stopped by the police station in Holyoke yesterday. He’s a doctor with a practice in Holyoke. It turns out he did see what happened with your car. He confronted the woman whose car hit yours and asked her what she intended to do about it, and she blew him off and left. He was going to leave you a note on the car, explaining what he’d seen, but that was when he slipped. He racked up his knee—he’s close to seventy—so he wasn’t able to get around for a couple of days. But he thought it was the right thing to do, to report it. He doesn’t live or work in Granford, and he didn’t know where you lived, so he reported it to the Holyoke police, which is where the market is. That’s why I didn’t hear about this immediately—not my jurisdiction. But when I did, I put two and two together. You didn’t see any fight?”

“No. Did he need an ambulance?”

“Yes. The store manager brought the guy inside, and just to be on the safe side, he called the EMTs. I guess you left before the ambulance had time to get there.”

“I don’t remember seeing anything unusual while I was there, but I was pretty focused on getting in and out without smashing someone, for all the good that did me. Does this change anything?”

Art shrugged. “Not really. He didn’t get any license plates or anything, so all we know that’s new is that it was a woman who hit you, and she didn’t feel like sticking around to tell you. It’s nothing you can take to your insurance company. I just thought you’d like to know.”

“Well, I suppose it was nice of him to try,” Meg said. “Thank you for telling me.”

“So, what did you want to talk to me about, Meg?” Art asked.

Meg glanced at Seth, then took a deep breath. “I think there’s something strange going on here. Heck, maybe that incident in the parking lot is part of it.”

He cocked his head at her. “I’m listening.”

Meg ran through the list of items that she had outlined before to Bree, trying to keep her tone neutral. She didn’t want to come across as a flake, and in any case she thought it was the cumulative list rather than any one incident that was troubling. She ended with the episode in the barn. “What do you think?”

“Ah, Meg, Meg . . . I know you’re not the hysterical type, so I’ll take you seriously. And I guess I see your point. Individually these events are minor, but taken together I can see why you’re upset. When did you say these began?”

“Uh, a week, ten days ago? And there’s been something almost every day.”

“Did you do anything different right before this? Change anything?”

“Nope. And before you ask, I didn’t tick off anyone either. Everything seemed perfectly normal.”

Art sat back and contemplated the ceiling. “What do you want me to do, Meg?”

Meg reflected for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t know that I want you to do anything, Art. I guess I just wanted an official record of what may or may not have been going on—just in case someone blows up the house or something.”

“Don’t even joke about it, Meg,” he said. “I wish I could offer you more than sympathy, but that’s all I’ve got. You keeping an eye on things here, Seth?”

“I am. So that’s it?”

“Afraid so.” Art stood up stiffly. “I’d better be heading home. Let me know if anything else happens, Meg.”

“I will.”

Seth accompanied him out to his car, and Meg watched through the kitchen window as the two men stood by the police cruiser talking. She couldn’t say she felt reassured, but at least he hadn’t laughed at her fears.

“Not a lot of help, was he?” Bree said from the doorway.

“When did you come in?” Meg asked.

“Just for the end of it. I didn’t think I was eavesdropping.”

“Hey, you’re as much affected as I am. I don’t know what he
can
do,” Meg said.

“So now what?”

“We keep a really good lookout anytime either of us goes anywhere. Or stays here alone. Keep your cell phone with you at all times. Hope that we can figure out what this is all about before things get worse. I think what happened last night is definitely an escalation, and I really don’t want to know where this person might go from here.”

“This is really weird,” Bree said. “I don’t even want to think about what the next step might be.”

Seth came back, stamping his feet on the steps. “So nothing much has changed. Too bad the doctor didn’t get a few more details, but he’s not young.”

“You knew him?” Meg asked, then answered for herself: Seth knew everybody.

“He’s treated half the kids in Granford. After my time, though. But he should have retired a few years ago. I think he just took on a partner or two, to ease his way out. It’s hard to attract doctors to Granford.”

“That’s too bad,” Meg said.

“It is that. All right, I’m definitely staying tonight. If whoever it is sees that you’re just fine after last night, he could decide to move on to another attack. I’ll go home and get Max—at least he’ll hear anybody sneaking around in the middle of the night, although he might want to play with whoever it is.”

Meg refrained from pointing out that Max wasn’t the most dependable of watchdogs. She briefly debated asserting her independence and then rejected the idea. In fact, she’d welcome Seth’s company, and even Max’s. She was pretty sure she’d sleep better with Seth around. “I’d like that.”

“I’ll be back in fifteen.”

When he’d left, Bree said, “Nice bodyguard, but he can’t stick around forever. You’ve got to find out what’s going on.”

“Believe me, I’d love to. I don’t need something like this to worry about. Speaking about worrying, how’re those numbers coming?”

“Almost done. It’s looking good. Really!”

“I certainly hope so.”

While Seth was gone, Meg threw together a halfhearted dinner of spaghetti with bottled sauce. In half an hour Seth came back with Max, who greeted everyone, including Lolly, as though he hadn’t seen them for months. “Should I leave him in the kitchen tonight?”

“Please,” Meg said. “I’m sure he’d start chewing on the furniture if we let him have the run of the house while we’re upstairs. Just make sure he knows better than to beg at the table.” Meg smiled inwardly at the mental image of Max trying to cope with spaghetti.

They carefully avoided any difficult topics over dinner. Bree disappeared first, leaving Meg and Seth alone at the kitchen table. “You look beat. You want to go up?” Seth said.

“I guess so. I didn’t sleep well last night, for obvious reasons.”

“I’ll check the doors and be up in a couple of minutes, after I settle Max.”

“Fine.”

Meg couldn’t even manage to stay awake until Seth returned.

Seth was gone when Meg awoke the next morning. She stretched luxuriantly, and then realized that for the first time in a week the room was warm. She wondered idly how efficient the new furnace was going to be. The house hadn’t been built for furnaces, and the ductwork was barely adequate. She’d have to adjust to the new heating patterns of her more efficient furnace. She smiled.

Time to get up; time to face another day. Bree had said the numbers were almost done. Her dragging her heels with the financial summary was beginning to get on Meg’s nerves. Was Bree trying to conceal something? Or to let Meg down gently? Was she having trouble confronting the results of her first season as a real manager? Or did she just hate math?

Meg dressed at a leisurely pace, since the room wasn’t icy, and ambled down the stairs to find Bree reading the paper and eating her breakfast under Lolly’s watchful eye. “Morning,” Meg said, as she helped herself to coffee. “Has anything blown up in the rest of the world?”

“Same old, same old,” Bree said. “I think the weather is supposed to warm up this week, though. Which means slush and mud.”

“I have my trusty muck boots,” Meg replied, popping a bagel in the toaster. “Do I have to go out?”

“Not on my account you don’t. Just warning you. The goats may get a bit muddy, too.”

Meg tried to imagine putting rubber boots on the goats and gave up. Let nature take its course. “Anything else on the agenda?”

“You mean, like your numbers? I’m on it. Today, or maybe tomorrow, I promise. You doing anything about Christmas?”

“I’ve been trying to ignore it. I’m not going anywhere, and I’d kind of like to spend my first Christmas in my house here. Especially now that I have a working furnace. How about you? Are you going to see your parents anytime soon?”

Bree shrugged. “Maybe in the spring. We aren’t real close. I’ll probably visit my auntie for the holiday. And spend some time with Michael.”

“That sounds nice,” Meg said. “Of course, you’re both welcome here. I’m sure we could put together some kind of Christmas dinner. Are you finished with the front section?” Bree handed her part of the newspaper, and they sat in companionable silence as they finished breakfast. The tranquility was broken when the phone rang, and Meg went to answer it.

“Hey, Meg,” Gail said. “I’ve got something for you!” Her voice was gleeful.

“That was fast. What did you find?”

“I checked the Granford Vital Records and the town records. No sign of any Coxes born here, but I did find a marriage for Violet Cox in 1805, which would be after she made that sampler of yours.”

“Great! At least we know she was here. But where was she born?” Meg asked.

“I’ve just gotten started. And—drumroll, please—my curator friend is drooling at the prospect of seeing your treasure. Can we get together?”

“Sure—do you want to do lunch again?”

“Sounds good. And if I call Janice now, I’m pretty sure she can join us. In fact, once she saw the pictures I forwarded, she was ready to show up immediately. Why don’t we meet at Gran’s? Noon?”