A Gala Event (24 page)

“Can we go watch TV now?” Chloe asked.

Meg debated for about two seconds about insisting that
she help wash the dishes she'd helped create, and decided that life lesson could wait for another day. “Sure. You know where it is. Take your brother with you. And don't fight over what show to watch.”

“Got it. C'mon, Matthew.” The children left the kitchen, followed by Max.

Meg leaned against the kitchen counter. “I'm already exhausted. May I offer you a glass of wine, or would that corrupt the young 'uns?”

“I'm sure they've seen it before.”

Meg filled two glasses from the bottle in the refrigerator, and they sat at the table. “Should we be worried?” she asked Lydia quietly.

“I don't know, to be honest. Rachel's first two deliveries were easy enough, but it's been a while. But all her checkups went fine—or at least, that's what she told me. Don't borrow trouble, Meg. Noah will call us as soon as he can.”

“I hope so!”

“By the way, I did have one strange conversation with Rachel this morning. About that list of Eastman's clients?”

“Yes, she mentioned that to me, too. Why is that important now?”

“Because she told me Jacob Patterson is on the list. I know the man. Seth's father certainly did, as well. I think if I approached him, he'd talk to me.”

“About the fire?”

“Exactly. I can give him a call tomorrow. You want to go with me?”

“Of course. But let's leave the Eastman clan out of it for the moment.”

“I agree.”

And then Seth returned, followed by a row of Eastmans, and quiet fled.

Since dinner was already cooked, Meg could sit at the table and devote some attention to watching the three Eastmans interact. Aaron was still subdued, but Meg was happy to see that Lori was joking with him, and was rewarded with an occasional smile. Kevin, who'd had less time to get comfortable with his brother and sister, was more wary, watching the banter between the others and looking a little lost.

Lydia's phone rang halfway through the meal, and she stood up and walked to the window to answer it. When she turned, she was smiling broadly. “Baby girl, eight pounds ten ounces, mother and daughter are fine. Kids, I guess you're spending the night with me.” Chloe and Michael cheered.

Meg felt relief surge through her, and realized how worried she had been about Rachel. “When can she have visitors?”

Lydia resumed her seat. “I didn't think to ask. And I don't know when they'll send her home—it could be as early as
tomorrow, the way health care works these days. So, kids, if you're wondering, yes, you will be going to school tomorrow. Either your mom will be home by the end of the day, when you get out, or I'll take you over to the hospital to visit after school. Got it?” They nodded in unison.

Lydia turned to Meg. “I'll . . . make that call in the morning, once I know what Rachel's schedule will be. If possible, we could do it tomorrow—otherwise it may have to wait for the weekend.”

“That's okay, Lydia,” Meg told her. “Life has a habit of getting in the way of plans.”

No one mentioned anything remotely controversial at the dinner table, which Meg credited to the presence of children, and for which she was grateful. Chloe proudly presented the dessert, which disappeared fast. It was close to eight when Lydia said, “Okay, school day tomorrow. I've got some of your clothes at my house, so we'll be all set. I'll drive you to school in the morning, and one of us will pick you up at school after, so don't get on the bus. Is that clear?'

The children seemed subdued, and only nodded. Lydia stood up. “Aaron, Lori, Kevin—nice to see you all. Meg, thanks for having us. I'll talk to you in the morning.”

“Want a ride, Mom?” Seth volunteered.

“No, I think we can use the walk. It's a nice night. Ready, kiddos?”

They were gone in five minutes, after Matthew had made a long farewell to Max. Meg quirked an eyebrow at Seth. “Where's everybody staying tonight?”

“Kevin, you can stay with me at Seth's house,” Lori said quickly. “If that's all right with Seth?”

“Sure. I was going to suggest that,” Seth said.

“I can drive you over there, Lori, since your car is at his
house.” Kevin hesitated a moment. “You want to come, too, Aaron? We haven't really had a chance to talk.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Aaron said neutrally. “How long were you planning to stick around?”

“I've got a flight out on Monday. I need to be back next week to help out with the shelter's Thanksgiving dinner.”

“There's time, then.” He stood up. “Thanks for the meal. I'll be getting back now—I want to finish one long section of fence tomorrow. You know where to find me, Kevin.”

Everyone was standing, as they sorted out who was going where and with whom, and made vague plans for the next day. Seeing them all together now, Meg was struck by how quickly they fell into old ways of talking to each other—despite time and distance, she could still see the familial connections. How odd. She waved them all off, then poured herself a last glass of wine and sat down again at the messy table. Seth followed the herd, offering last-minute suggestions.

Lolly crept into the room to see if the coast was clear, then looked piteously at Meg. “Yeah, right, you want food. I've fed all the rest of Granford, so I guess I might as well feed you, too.” She dumped half a can of cat food on a plate and set it on the floor in front of Lolly, then resumed her place at the table. Still messy. Let Seth deal with it. Or it'd still be there in the morning. No sound from Bree . . . When had she snuck out? Meg realized she was actually alone in the house. When was the last time that was true?

She sipped her wine, thinking about the Eastman mess. Dad had most likely been a high-end scammer. Lori had dropped out; Kevin had turned into a bleeding-heart social worker; Aaron had spent more than half his life in jail. The fire had been (a) an accident, (b) a murder-suicide perpetrated by Dad, (c) set deliberately by Aaron or started by accident by him,
under the influence of who knew what drugs, or (d) started by somebody else altogether. But if (d) was the right answer, who? And why had the fire victims waited too long to get out? Or rather, why had Aaron managed to get out when nobody else did? And why had the police been so quick to point to Aaron, and why had they done such a cursory job of investigating?

Was the solution that everyone had arrived at the correct one? Or was there something else going on that nobody had wanted to look at?

Meg had reached this point in her thinking when Seth returned. “Any more of that?” he asked, pointing toward her glass.

“In the fridge,” she answered. “Everybody set for the night?”

“I think so. I can't say I really care. They are adults, after all.”

“What do you think is going to happen now? Is this the final farewell for the last of the Eastmans, and they'll all go their separate ways?”

“I have no idea.”

“You've spent more time with Aaron over the past few days. Has your opinion changed?”

Seth leaned back in his chair and sipped some wine before answering. “I think he's telling the truth when he says he doesn't remember. I believe he does want to remember, and not for any bad purpose, like revenge. Did he do it? That I can't say. The man I see now, after a quarter century in prison, is pretty passive. I don't know how much prison might have changed him. Maybe he was just a mixed-up kid in high school, and he grew up in prison. As far as I know, he never got into trouble there—I think Art would have told me.”

“Then let me ask you, what's the best-case outcome here?” Meg asked.

“That the family comes to terms with what happened and manages to create some sort of relationship going forward.”

“They do all seem kind of unattached—I mean, neither Lori nor Kevin seems to have any long-term relationship. Obviously Aaron is a different case. You think that's the result of their upbringing, or the effect of the fire and the deaths?”

Seth shook his head. “I can't say, and I'm not going to guess. Can we table this for now?”

“Sure.” Actually, Meg thought, it was kind of a relief not to have to think about it. “I ordered tiles today.”

“Great! Will they deliver? That's a lot of weight.”

“Tomorrow, they said.”

“If we can, we should go see Rachel and the baby tomorrow, before I start on the bathrooms. I'll plan to stick around here and do the demolition work. I've already got all the pipes and blue board and such. And the permits—can't do anything in Massachusetts without the right permits.”

“I'd better warn Bree. I told her it was going to happen, and she might want to go over to Michael's. So what're the steps?”

Seth outlined the process for opening up the walls, installing new pipes, fixing whatever wiring might need it, then replacing the walls. “And that's when you come in. We leave the rough attachments for the fixtures until you get the tiles in—after the wiring and plumbing have been officially inspected, of course.”

“Of course. And how long do the tiles have to dry or cure or whatever they do?” Meg asked.

“A day, no problem. Then you have to grout them—that's another day. I promise I'll leave at least one toilet operational. If you want to bathe, I've got plenty of buckets.”

“You're a prince,” Meg muttered. Then more loudly she said, “So we can have everything in place by Sunday?”

“That's my plan. Frame things tomorrow, tile Saturday,
grout Sunday. I guess Monday would be the earliest I can install the fixtures, but that won't take long. Want me to do the dishes?”

“They can wait. You do realize we have the house to ourselves?”

“Ah. I'll do the dishes in the morning.”

Meg woke early Friday morning to the sound of banging and crashing. It took her a moment to identify the source of the noise: Seth must have started demolition. She lay in bed because she really wasn't ready to face the mess that adding not one but two bathrooms would create. No doubt they'd be as historically correct as indoor plumbing in a colonial house could be, but mess was mess, old or new. She sent a brief prayer to the universe that Seth didn't find anything unexpected when he opened up the walls. Antique pipes and dry rot from years of leaks she could handle. Dead animals, less so. Dead bodies? Please, no! Maybe an old photo or some letters—that would be okay. Or maybe someone had found a convenient hidey-hole for his or her bottle of patent medicine, which had been heavy on the alcohol.

She could hear Bree's voice alternating with Seth's, so Bree had reemerged from wherever she'd gone the night before. Or hidden. Meg reluctantly decided she'd better get
up. Seth would have warned her if he'd turned off the water, wouldn't he? Maybe she could grab a quick shower before then.

Downstairs she found Seth looking all too happy, holding a small sledgehammer and already covered with plaster dust. “Oh, good, you're up,” he said. “I didn't want to break up the alcove in the bedroom while you were still asleep.”

“And you thought I could sleep through this?” Meg asked, waving at some serious holes in the walls. “What is it you're doing here, again?”

“Downstairs powder room, with toilet and sink only. I'm sure you don't want to give up any kitchen space, so I thought I'd carve it out of the front room. I'll continue the line of the chimney, up to the doorway—that would minimize what I'd have to take out and reconstruct. It'll be small but functional. And the plumbing will run up from the basement to that room, and then beyond it up to the new bathroom off the bedroom. We'll tie them all into the existing waste pipe. Make sense to you?”

“I guess. Is there coffee?”

“Of course.” Seth waved toward the stove.

Meg poured herself a cup and sat down. “Bree, where'd you disappear to last night?”

“I went to a movie. Looked like you had a real crowd here, and you didn't need me. Seth says the baby came?”

“She did. I hope we'll get to see her today. Lydia took the older kids home with her, and Seth parked the two elder Eastmans at his place. Aaron went back to the alpacas. Is that everybody, or have I forgotten someone?”

“That'll do,” Bree said. “I think I'll go hang out with Michael until you get this mess sorted out.”

“Seth promises it will all be done by Monday. Right, dear?”

“No problem,” Seth replied, between whacks of the
hammer. Meg wasn't sure he had even heard her question, but it was too late to stop him now.

Lydia called shortly after nine. “Kids safely at school. I checked with the hospital—Rachel and the baby are in good shape, so she's going home today. I think it might be better to wait until she gets home to try to see her, don't you? I'll pick up the kids after school and head over there directly. You can join us, or maybe you'd like to wait until she's settled. And what the heck is all that banging and crashing?”

“Seth has begun the great bathroom project. He's still taking out walls, so I thought I'd grab a shower before he dismantles the plumbing. I agree that Rachel probably doesn't need a crowd as soon as she gets back. You go ahead. I can run over tomorrow. So, I've got the day free. Are we on for the insurance agent?”

“Let me give him a call right now. I was waiting to see what Rachel's schedule was before making any other plans. I'll call you as soon as I've talked to him.”

“What story are you going to give him?”

“Easy. I'll tell him I'm thinking of changing insurers. Talk to you later!” Lydia hung up.

Meg got up and wandered over to where Seth was staring at what had been a wall, and taking measurements. “Do I have time for a shower?”

“Make it a fast one,” he said. “Was that Mom?”

“Yes. She said Rachel and the baby will be home later today. I thought the family needed time to settle in, so I may go over tomorrow. Maybe you can come with me, but only if you get enough done here first.”

“Then take your shower so I can get back to work.” He grabbed her for a quick kiss. “Good morning.”

“Mmm, I love the taste of plaster dust in the morning.”

Meg was toweling dry her hair when Lydia called back. “Can you make it at eleven?” Lydia asked.

“Sure. I can't even think here; Seth is destroying things I'd rather not know about. Was he always like that?”

“I'd say yes. He'd make things out of blocks and then smash them with great glee.”

“Figures. Let me get dressed. Can you pick me up?”

“Sure. See you about quarter to eleven.”

Lydia arrived on time, and Meg hurried out to meet her, relieved to be away from the noise and dust. Seth appeared to be in hog heaven and probably hadn't even noticed that she'd left. “Do you know,” Meg said, as she fastened her seat belt, “I don't think I've ever seen walls taken apart? The only construction project I've been part of, up close and personal, was sanding my kitchen floor, and that didn't involve destroying anything.”

“I wish I could say I knew what you meant about destruction, but Seth's father was always so busy fixing other people's problems that very little got done around our house. I think that's a large part of how Seth learned: by doing it himself.”

“But then he went off to an outstanding school and got a degree in literature, right? That kind of implies that he wanted to get about as far from plumbing as possible. I'm sorry—that sounds rude, given what happened.”

“I understand your question. I've always regretted that Seth didn't end up teaching at a university somewhere, but somebody had to keep the business going, and he was the oldest. Do you think he's unhappy with how things turned out?”

“Actually, no, I don't. He likes to fix things, both real, physical things and more abstract problems. I'm not sure his heart was ever in plumbing, but since he's made the transition to restoration and renovation, he's been a lot more cheerful. He's doing something he loves.”

“Well, that's good to hear. “

Meg decided it was time to change the subject. “How well do you know Jacob Patterson?”

“Mostly professionally. I'm sure Seth has mentioned that Massachusetts is pretty strict on construction standards and required permitting, so that means all plumbing has to be inspected before you can close up the wall. And the work has to be done by a licensed plumber—no DIY jobs. Without all the right paperwork, no permit, no inspection, no insurance coverage. So my husband and Jacob crossed paths quite often. And it's a small town, so we'd run into each other now and then. But it's not like we were bridge partners or took vacations together.”

“How much competition for insurance business is there here? Or was there back when the fire happened?”

“Jacob's the only one who lives in town here. Obviously there are larger firms in other nearby towns. But people in Granford know him, and they like to do business locally, so I think he's done all right. He should be pretty close to retiring now, although it's not a physically demanding job, so I guess he could work as long as he likes.”

“And he was on Ken Eastman's list of investors.”

“He was.”

Lydia pulled into a small paved area in front of a house that looked as though it dated from the 1950s. It had a discreet painted shingle hanging on a post in the front, advertising
JACOB PATTERSON, INSURA
NCE AGENT
. “Here we are.”

“How do we handle this, Lydia?” Meg asked.

Lydia sighed. “Like I know any more than you do about interrogating people? I'd say start with Aaron returning to town and take it from there.”

Jacob greeted them cheerfully at the door. “Lydia, what a treat to see you again! How've you been? And this is Meg
Corey?” He thrust out his hand. “I've heard all sorts of things about you, Meg.”

“All good, I hope.”

“Well, except for those crimes you keep running into. But that's not your fault, now, is it? Lydia, what can I do for you? You said something about reevaluating your insurance needs?”

“Can we sit down, Jacob?”

“Sure, sure, come on into my office.” He led the way into a smaller room toward the back, where there was a desk with two chairs in front of it, and stacks of files. “Please, sit. Sorry about the mess; my receptionist left for lunch—about three years ago.” Apparently it was a joke he'd told before, because he waited expectantly for a response from them.

Lydia laughed politely, then turned sober. “Actually, Jacob, there was something else that Meg and I wanted to talk about. You've heard that Aaron Eastman is in town?”

Jacob gave them a long look. “Yes, I have. Sad story, that.”

“You set up the insurance policy on the Eastman house, didn't you, Jacob?” Lydia asked.

“I did. Damn good thing, too. It was fully covered, including contents. Life insurance policies for the mister and missus, too.”

“And that house coverage included arson?”

“Sure. It was a premium policy, against all contingencies. Even flood, although the Connecticut River never made it anywhere near the house. Course, that was before global warming. Anyway, the policy payouts went into the estate, and from there to the kids.”

“And the Eastmans set all that up not too long before they died?” Lydia asked.

Jacob gave her an odd look. “That's right. Ken and Sharon were taking a long look at what coverage they had. The kids
were getting older, but they had college costs and such still to come. And the former policies were out-of-date. They were just being responsible. Why do you want to know?”

“Was that your only business dealing with Ken Eastman, Jacob?” Lydia asked softly.

Jacob focused on Lydia with an expression that Meg thought contained equal parts calculation and sorrow. “Now, why would you ask that, Lydia?” he said, clearly stalling.

Lydia glanced at Meg before saying, “Because your name turned up on a list of investors in Kenneth Eastman's investment fund.”

Jacob seemed to shrink just a bit. “I see. Where did you find that? It's private. And all of Ken's records went up in flames.”

Lydia shook her head. “Not all of them, Jacob. His mother-in-law, maybe with her daughter's help, kept copies of quite a lot of them, and she made sure they were kept in a safe place, not at the house. There are a few boxes' worth, and they make interesting reading. Meg and I have seen them.”

“What do you want from me?” Jacob said, in a near-whisper.

“Lydia, let me take this one,” Meg said. “Jacob, Aaron Eastman came back to Granford as soon as he was released, because he had some questions about some of the details of the fire that killed his parents.”
That's an evasion, Meg!
But she didn't want to give away too much too soon. “Now he wants to stay around until he figures out a few things. By the way, he was the one who took the documents out of the house, and he told us about them.” Almost the truth. “Lydia and I have both looked through them, and we decided that there were several things about this Eastman fund that were suspicious. When we learned that you were one of the participants, we came straight to you. We hope you can answer some of our questions.”

“So you haven't talked to any of the others?” Jacob asked.

“Not yet,” Lydia answered him. “A lot of them have
passed away, but I recognized plenty of the names. What did you know, Jacob?”

Jacob leaned back in his creaking desk chair and looked over their heads. “Then? Not as much as I should have, but I guess you'd have to say I didn't want to know. Ken's fund was paying out good money, and I wasn't going to ask questions. Besides, there were a lot of smart people on that list.”

“And when did you finally decide that there was something fishy going on?” Meg asked. “After the fire?”

Jacob shook his head. “No, it was before that. Look, I've always been a pretty honest guy. You have a job like mine, in a small town, you get to know people, and you know things about 'em. Like how much they're worth. What kinds of jewelry or art or cars they've got. How much they want to leave for their children. You know? It's kind of personal, but I didn't run around talking about them, because that would have been wrong. I was real happy when Ken asked me to invest in his fund, because it was like I had arrived socially.” Jacob smiled at the memory, but without humor. “It meant I was one of the important folk in Granford. I'd been careful about saving, so I invested a little. And then a little more. Lydia, how well did you know Ken?”

“Hardly at all. My husband, Stephen, wasn't part of Ken's social class. He was one of the ones who worked
for
men like Ken, not with them.”