One Bad Apple (21 page)

Meg found herself warming to Rachel’s enthusiasm. “I guess it is, at that. Thank you for reminding me.”

Rachel checked her watch. “Listen, I have to leave in half an hour. If I’m not there, Mom tries to do all the cooking, and she’s just not up to it anymore.”

Meg felt a pang of jealousy. It would be nice to be part of a warm and welcoming family right now. Her mother just didn’t fit the bill.

She led Rachel back to the kitchen and after pouring them each a cup of coffee, said, “So it’s you and Seth and Stephen? No other siblings?”

“Nope. Dad died a few years ago, but Mom’s doing pretty well. She keeps herself busy. And the guys don’t help as much as they might—it’s a man thing, I guess. They just don’t see what needs to be done.” Rachel sipped at her coffee. “What about you? No family around?”

Meg shook her head. “I’m an only child, and so was Mom. We used to live in New Jersey, but Mom and Dad moved to northern Maryland a while ago, and they’ve got plenty to keep them busy there. We talk on the phone, and I try to visit for major holidays, depending on work.” Which was no longer an issue. Where would she be by the time Thanksgiving rolled around? She moved quickly to change the subject. “Mom didn’t even want to come up here to look at the house. She told me to go ahead and do whatever needed to be done. I didn’t realize just how much that was. She’ll show up in time to move a few trinkets around and think she’s done her share.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it done. It just takes a lot of elbow grease.”

“Tell me about it! So, do Seth and Stephen live with your mother?” Funny, she had never thought to ask.

Rachel laughed. “Not hardly. Stephen moved out as soon as he could—he wanted a place of his own so he could entertain his, uh, lady friends. Although ‘lady’ might be stretching the truth a little. He’s got a condo a couple of miles down 202. Seth lives in one of the other family houses on the property. The Chapins ran to big families in the old days, but they stayed close to home. Convenient for the business, anyway. That operates out of what used to be farm buildings near the highway—you’ve probably seen it.”

They chatted for the allotted half hour, and then Rachel stood up and stretched. “Well, I’d better head on over to the house. Look, Meg, if you ever feel overwhelmed, just give me a call. I can’t say I’ve ever been a new kid around here, but I know it must be hard when you don’t know anyone. And things have been kind of complicated …”

“You mean, things like finding a dead body?”

Rachel grinned. “Exactly. But these are good people here, and once you get to know them, you’ll like them. Just give them a chance. Okay, gotta run. Thanks for the tour!”

Rachel left, but some of her energy lingered. Meg went back to the parlor. Rachel was right: the room had good lines, and it was time to haul out the tacky carpet, which she had left in a heap days before, and the lumpy upholstered chairs. Once she got the room cleared out, she could tackle the faded, blotched wallpaper. The sight of the garish flowers offended her every time she looked at them.

The clock ticked steadily over the fireplace. Meg smiled at it: it kept good time.

The sound kept her company as she hauled and scraped. At least the exercise kept her warm. It also gave her time to think. She had been treating Chandler’s death as both a tragedy, which it was, and a personal inconvenience, which it also was. But she hadn’t considered it as a problem, one that could be analyzed and solved. And while her hands were busy, she could certainly think about it.

What did she know? One, Chandler had been murdered, by a blow or blows to the head. Two, while it might not have taken a lot of physical power to overcome Chandler, especially if he had been surprised, it definitely would have taken strength to transport him to her property and stuff him through the relatively narrow opening of the septic tank. Three, either the detective didn’t know, or he was unwilling to share with her, exactly where Chandler had been killed. If it was at his hotel, someone had concealed it well. She had heard nothing but nice things about the hotel, so she assumed that any nasty evidence like blood would be glaringly obvious in a well-cleaned room. His car had been found in the parking garage, where it should have been, and the detective had checked that for evidence, so that was ruled out.

She had cleared one wall of its atrocious paper. For a break, she ambled into the kitchen and retrieved one of Christopher’s latest gift of apples from the refrigerator. Back in the dining room she munched on it while contemplating how much more remained to be done to clear the rest of the wallpaper. Christopher was right: the apple was crisp and sweet. No supermarket apple would have survived in such good condition after a couple of months in cold storage.

Back to the question of Chandler’s murder. She didn’t have a lot of tangible evidence to work with, so maybe she needed to look at motive. Why would anyone want to kill Chandler? Was it business or personal? On the business side, she had the impression that there were people in Granford who held strong opinions about the Granford Grange project, both for and against. She didn’t know those people well enough to gauge the likelihood of any of them turning to violence, but it was possible. She’d have to ask Seth or Rachel. Who else was involved—or rather, who wasn’t, in a small town? Who was going to do the actual construction? What about the shop owners of Granford, who might be squeezed out by major chain coffee shops or hardware stores? The list just kept growing. Still, killing Chandler seemed rather extreme—and it wouldn’t necessarily stop the project. So who benefitted with Chandler out of the way? Would the financing consortium Chandler had assembled hold together without him? Based on Friday’s impromptu meeting, Cinda Patterson had stepped up to fill Chandler’s shoes (Meg allowed herself a brief giggle at the mental image of Chandler in stilettos or Cinda in wingtips), and the bank was standing behind her.

And she couldn’t dismiss personal motive. In another time, Chandler would have been called a “ladies’ man.” He liked women.
No,
Meg amended,
he liked being with women.
He liked the way a beautiful woman on his arm raised his status in the eyes of his peers. He liked the thrill of the hunt, the ultimate victory. But did he really like women as people? Meg wasn’t so sure of that. He’d never been married, and he hadn’t sustained any long-term relationships that she knew of. Yet he had seldom lacked for female companionship, and she could attest that he wasn’t gay.

When Chandler had broken off their relationship, she had been surprised and, looking back on the episode, mildly hurt, but nothing like devastated. She smiled to herself: if the detective considered her a wronged woman bent on revenge, he was barking up the wrong tree. She had never felt strongly enough about Chandler to consider killing him, and she certainly hadn’t wished him dead. She wondered idly who Chandler had been seeing recently. She was quite sure there was someone—there always was.

She had no answers for anything. Standing up, she disposed of her apple core in the kitchen. Break over: back to the ratty wallpaper.

Meg slept soundly after her energetic work, but she woke up with Chandler’s murder on her mind. Seth thought the detective would find Chandler’s killer, but would he? She wanted closure; she wanted to be sure she wasn’t a suspect, improbable though that seemed to her. She wanted to do something to move the investigation forward.

That thought surprised her. What could she do? She didn’t know anyone in the area; she didn’t know the lay of the land. But, she realized, she did have one advantage: she knew the banking industry and, more specifically, the Boston banks, including the one Chandler had worked for. She knew them far better than the local police ever would, and she knew what questions to ask. Maybe someone from Boston had followed Chandler out to the western part of the state and thought it would be convenient to eliminate him here, to avoid dirtying their own nest. It was worth looking into.

She checked her watch: almost eight o’clock. Her friend Lauren would no doubt be in her office. Lauren had somehow survived the merger purges at the bank and had emerged with a more exalted title and a slightly larger desk, which she deserved, and Meg didn’t begrudge them to her. Would she have time to talk? At least Meg could get the ball rolling. Her mission: find out as much as she could about the business side of the proposed Granford deal. She also wanted to pump Lauren for as much personal information as she could about the late Chandler. She dressed quickly, then went to the kitchen, picked up her phone, and hit Lauren’s speed-dial number.

Lauren answered the phone, clearly breathless. “Hey, Meg, you’re up with the cows now? Sorry I haven’t called, but things have been really crazy here. So, have you decided you’ve had enough of country and you want back in the game in Boston?”

Meg laughed: same old Lauren, running a mile a minute. “Hey, slow down and breathe, will you? I know you’re busy, so I’ll keep it simple.” But having said that, Meg wasn’t sure how to start. “You remember Chandler Hale?”

“Chandler? Of course—he’s hard to miss. So, what about him?”

“Well, for a start, he’s dead.”

“What? When?” Clearly Lauren hadn’t heard the news.

Meg sighed. “It’s complicated, but as far as the police can tell, it was last Tuesday night. I’m surprised you didn’t hear. I’m sure he’d be devastated to know he didn’t make the front page.”

Lauren apparently covered the phone with her hand and said something muffled to someone. “Sorry. They can’t seem to function around here without my holding their hands. Back to Chandler … I’ve been so swamped, I must have missed it. So, tell me more. But, no, wait—why do you care? You two were over ages ago.”

“Oh, yes, definitely ancient history.” It was the truth. The next part was harder. “But the thing is, his body was found on my property.”

Silence from Lauren’s end, for several seconds. “Oh, wow! Do you need a good lawyer?”

Meg almost laughed. “No, nothing like that. But look, Lauren, I can really use your help. I know how busy you are, so I’ll give you the bare outline. The detective wants to believe I had something to do with Chandler’s death, because that would make his life easier, but he hasn’t got any evidence, because of course there isn’t any. I want to know who might have had a reason to want Chandler out of the way. Chandler was working on a commercial development deal in Granford—that’s why he was here. There are a lot of people in town who feel strongly about the whole deal, and that means there are a lot of potential local suspects. The police and the detective are working on this end of things, but I thought since I knew Chandler and I know the Boston scene, I might be able to find out what was going on at that end.”

“You sure you aren’t a suspect, Meg?” Lauren sounded disappointed. “Because if you did it, I can think of at least six, no, seven women who would probably throw you a killer party. Ooh, bad pun.”

“I suppose I am, ridiculous though that sounds. I didn’t even know he was here until he came looking for the tenants at my house. And, no, I didn’t have any desire to kill him. We were never that serious,” Meg said. “But the sooner this gets cleared up, the sooner I can get the house on the market. I don’t want this hanging over the place.”

“Hey, it might bring you a lot of lookers.”

“I don’t want lookers, I want buyers. Or at least one. You interested in a country place?”

“Ha!” was Lauren’s response. “I’ll leave that to you.”

I don’t want it
, Meg thought. “Look, can you sniff out who’s involved in this deal? I know the bank but not the players, if you know what I mean. To me the whole deal seems pretty run of the mill—a strip mall in a rural area. Not a big deal by Boston terms. But is there anyone who would want to see Chandler eliminated? Was this a pet project of his, and will the bank support it without him at the helm? They’re making the right noises, but that might just be PR. That’s the kind of thing I’d like to find out.”

“I see what you’re getting at. Let me ask around. There could be more going on than meets the eye. Business has been tight lately, and there aren’t that many start-up projects. If the bank is trying to establish a presence in a new market, with an eye toward bigger things, maybe the Granford deal was just the opening wedge, and somebody else wanted a piece of the action. Chandler didn’t always play well with others, did he? I’ll see what I can dig up.”

Meg felt a surge of relief. “That’s great! And thanks. I’ll owe you.”

“Right, you will,” Lauren responded cheerfully. “Give me a day or two. They won’t arrest you before then, will they?”

“I hope not.” Meg wasn’t even sure if she was joking.

After a pause, Lauren asked slyly, “So, how’s your love life?”

“What love life? All I do is scrape, paint, and clean. I’ve barely had time to meet anybody, except the manager at Home Depot. Heck, I’ve probably seen more of my plumber than any other man.”