Seeds of Deception (8 page)

Once they were on the main highway, Seth said, “You know, you've never told me much about your childhood.”

Meg was startled out of her reverie—or maybe it was more like a funk, she mused. “You're right. No, I'm not hiding any deep dark secrets. It's just that you and I kind of skipped over the ‘getting to know you' phase when we got together. I have to say I know a lot more about you and your background than you do about mine.”

“That's because you've been living in the middle of it all. My history is an open book. So tell me. We have plenty of time.”

“All right.” Meg took a moment to collect her thoughts—she wasn't used to talking about herself. “You know my folks met in Cambridge, back in the wild seventies?”

“Yes, I think that came up when your mother visited. Then what?”

“They got married right after he got his law degree from Harvard, and my father joined a Boston law firm right away. It wasn't one of the big-name firms, but a small solid one. He worked there for five or six years, then he was recruited by a bigger New York firm, Blackwell, Hyzy, and Cates. You probably don't recognize the name, but they were important. Anyway, he jumped at the chance—I was about four at the time, so I don't remember all this, only snatches of it. I don't know if he was worried about making partner in Boston, or if he just wanted a bigger playing field.”

“So he and your mother moved to New York?”

“Not exactly. I'm not sure if it was because they didn't want to raise a family in the city, but for whatever reason they looked at the bedroom communities with commuter lines in northern New Jersey. And found something they could afford in Madison.”

Seth shook his head. “Never heard of it.”

“No reason why you should have. It was, and still is, a nice town with about fifteen thousand people. One high school. A real town center. One of the first malls in the area was only a short ride away. It was a nice place to grow up.”

“But they don't live there now. When did they move?”

“After I left for college. Daddy worked for Blackwell, Hyzy for close to fifteen years, all through my high school years, and after. I really never saw much of him back then. You know, lawyers work long hours, plus he was commuting, so he left early in the morning and was lucky to make it home by dinner.”

“How did your mother feel about that?” Seth asked carefully. “That was a long stretch of her life.”

“She didn't complain, at least not to me. She never held down a paying job, but she did a lot of volunteer work, first at my elementary school, and later at the library and the high school PTA and for a few other worthy causes. And she and I did all the nice things in New York—museums, plays. Sometimes after a matinee we'd have dinner with Daddy in the city. We never talked about it, but I had the feeling that she knew what she was signing on for when she married Daddy. She wanted a successful lawyer for a husband, and that's what she got, even if it meant sacrifices. Sorry—that makes her sound kind of cold, and I don't mean it that way. She was always a fairly independent person, and she had her own life.”

“So how did the move to Montclair come about?”

“I left for college in 2000. They moved during that year. The two towns are less than twenty miles apart, but the commute was easier for Daddy. And to be honest, Montclair was a swankier address—more prestige, more money in town. I guess they figured that with me out of the house, they could move on—or up.”

“Is he still with that firm? We've never really talked about what they do professionally,” Seth said.

“No. After twenty-odd years working in New York, Daddy decided he wanted a different environment, or maybe he just wanted to slow down after all those years of working so hard, so he left them and opened his own law firm in 2010, in Montclair. He brought along a colleague from the old firm—Arthur Ackerman. I've never met him, but I think they're about the same age. They focus on white-collar issues—they still have New York contacts, but a lot of the business leaders have homes outside the city, or their companies have moved to the suburbs, so it's
more convenient for everyone. I graduated from college and then I got an MBA and started working, so I didn't get home much, mainly for holidays, now and then, and my grandparents' funerals. I never got to know Montclair, so I can't tell you much about it.”

“Why there?” Seth asked.

“Status, I think. Bigger, more impressive house, better address for business purposes.”

“So you never knew this caretaker?”

“No. Why would I? I was rarely there, and I don't think they were worried about keeping the lawn trimmed when I was visiting.”

“Did they have any other help in the house?”

Meg leaned back and regarded him. “Listen to you! Is this how you think the rich folk live?”

“I'm just asking,” Seth told her. “I'm trying to figure out who else knows the house, if they had access to it, if they knew the dead man. Where was he from, do you know? Mexico? South America?”

“Seth, how am I supposed to know that? I haven't lived in the state for years. Even if I had met him, which I didn't, I couldn't have told you. I can't even answer that question for Hispanic residents of Massachusetts. Maybe for the Jamaican population. Can you?”

“No, I can't. I retract the question.”

“Are you trying to connect my father to Colombian drug lords or something?” Meg asked, not sure whether she was joking.

“No. Is it possible, though?”

Meg considered being insulted by Seth's question, but realized how little she knew about what her father really did—and with whom. “Shoot, I don't know. Daddy and I
don't talk about his work. Seth, I know what New Jersey used to be like, when I was growing up. I have very little idea what it's like now. I will say that towns like Madison and Montclair don't change much, except to get more expensive. I'll bet there are fewer kids in my high school now than there were when I went there, because a lot of parents can't afford to live there. And I doubt there's a whole lot of diversity.”

“You don't have to jump all over me. My question was simply, was the handyman—Enrique—involved in something that got him killed, or did he just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“And I can't tell you that. I think Mother mentioned at some point that she had a cleaning woman come in once a week, or every other week, but I've never seen her, either. And Mother does do most of her own housework. Heck, how do you think I learned how to do it?”

“The same way I did—from my mother. Okay, obviously there's a lot we don't know, and we shouldn't theorize ahead of our data. We can spin stories all we like, but we don't have much to work with.”

“I know. That's why I'm frustrated.”

“And what do you think you can do once we get there?”

“Give my mother some moral support, I guess. Seth, you didn't hear her on the phone. You've met her, more than once, and she's always very controlled, very together. But last night she sounded really rattled. This is serious.”

“Of course it is. A body in your yard is serious stuff. But your father must have all sorts of contacts in the area. He can figure this out, can't he?”

“You're saying I shouldn't be there? That we don't need to shove ourselves into the middle of this?”

“No, I'm not. As I said at the beginning, this is your
family
. Family is important. If I'm in the way, just tell me and I'll clear out and let you deal with your parents.”

“No!” Meg said, more loudly than she intended. “No, please don't. You're family, too, now, and I think we can all use an outsider's perspective. Especially from someone who has some passing experience with suspicious deaths.”

“I wish we didn't,” Seth said.

“But we might never have met, otherwise,” Meg replied.

“There is that.”

*   *   *

Six hours in
a car was a long time, even with someone you liked, and who was also a careful driver. They stopped only briefly, to use the restrooms and stock up on munchies and water. The original time estimate proved to be accurate, and Meg guided Seth through her parents' residential neighborhood before two o'clock. She noticed that Seth was driving slowly, not so much because it was unfamiliar territory for him but because he was scoping out the houses and the lawns and shrubbery that surrounded them. “It's the next one on the right,” she told him.

He pulled up in front of the house, leaving the engine running.

“You can use the driveway, you know,” Meg said.

“I'm just looking. I see what you mean about privacy. From the street you can't see much of anything. Which neighbors were the ones who reported the car?”

“Those, I think. I've heard the name but I've never met them.” Meg pointed to a house not directly across the street, but offset so that it had a direct view up the driveway toward the garage. “They would have seen the rental car from there.”

“Right.” Seth pulled forward and made the turn into the driveway. The house was set on a low hill, so the drive sloped upward to the two-car garage, where both doors were shut. The rental car was still there, so Seth pulled into the space next to it and turned off the engine. “Do we have to go in the front door?”

“Of course not. We can go in the kitchen door. Yes, there's a doorbell—no doubt for the peasants who brought their humble offerings to the lord of the manor.”

“You're being sarcastic,” Seth commented.

“Yes, I am. I guess I'm nervous, because I don't know what we're going to find. If they'd found the killer, wouldn't Mother or Daddy have called while we were on the way?”

“I would think so.”

The interior door opened, and Meg's mother appeared behind the storm door. Her face lit up when she saw them in the driveway. She had reached the car before Meg and Seth had managed to extricate themselves from it. “Darling, I'm so glad you're here. Hello again, Seth, and welcome to our home. Come in, come in, before you freeze.”

Meg hugged her mother, who held on a few beats longer than usual. “Anything new?”

“No, not really. No suspects, or at least, not that anyone has told us. Certainly no arrests. It's nerve-racking, not knowing anything.”

“How's Daddy holding up?” Meg asked.

“Angry. Frustrated. He's spent a lot of the day barking at people in Amherst, trying to get the car brought down here. I think it's only his way of blowing off steam. Please, come in. Have you eaten?”

“Just snacks. We figured we should get here as quickly as we could.”

“That was very sweet of you, although I don't know that there's anything you can do.”

“Help if we can. Hold your hand if we can't.”

“I'll take it. Come on in. Your father's upstairs in the office—you two can have the big room overlooking the yard. The one you used to use.”

“That's fine. I assume . . . Enrique is no longer there? Is there police tape?”

“No, he's gone,” Elizabeth answered. “The medical examiner's office did what they had to do and took him away last night. Earlier today there was a herd of people with latex gloves on rummaging around and taking pictures, but they left and haven't returned. Besides which, he was found close to the house, and you couldn't see that from the upstairs room anyway.”

“Which way . . . no, we can talk about that later. You said something about food?”

“Yes. I made soup, since I couldn't figure out what else to do. There's some good bread—that was in the freezer. We haven't done any shopping yet.”

“Maybe we can do that later, together.”

“That would be nice. Were you planning on staying long?”

Meg glanced at Seth. “We hadn't really decided anything, even before this happened. There's nothing urgent we have to be back for. The animals are taken care of. We can play it by ear.”

“I'm sure you have better things to do on your honeymoon than hang around here waiting for the police to do their jobs.” Elizabeth turned to the stove, where a kettle was simmering on a back burner. Meg looked enviously at the appliance: six burners and two ovens. She could feed
an army with that. Not that there was room in her Colonial-sized kitchen for such a giant appliance.

Seth, too, was taking in the room. “Big kitchen you have here, Elizabeth.”

“Yes, it is. It's ridiculously big for the two of us, unless we were planning some serious dinner parties, which we never have. Sit down in the alcove there and I'll dish up.”

“There is also a breakfast room adjoining the kitchen,” Meg informed him, “and the formal dining room beyond it, in the front of the house.”

“Before you ask,” Elizabeth said, carrying two steaming bowls of soup over to the table, “I have no idea how anyone decided where to eat when this place was built. I'm guessing it was the servants who ate in here, or maybe the children, and the family ate breakfast in the aptly named breakfast room, which is also where the china storage cupboards are. Somewhere Emily Post may have rules for all of this, but I've never found them.”