A Gala Event (26 page)

Lydia sighed. “We can look at all the documents again. Maybe we missed something the first time through. Or maybe something will look different, given what we know now. Or maybe we could check out who the executor for the estate was—Lori was old enough, but I can't imagine anyone
trusting her to handle it. But I want to go visit Rachel and the baby first. You sure you don't want to come?”

“I don't want to intrude,” Meg said.

“Margaret Corey, you're family! Rachel will be happy to see you. Come on, don't you want to meet your new niece by almost-marriage?”

“Oh, all right,” Meg replied, smiling. “But we have to wait until school lets out, right? Why don't we have lunch first? And I'd better check in with Seth and make sure the house is still standing.”

“That works for me,” Lydia said.

Back at the house, when Meg and Lydia walked into the kitchen, Meg was relieved that the pounding had stopped. She picked her way across the floor—which Seth had thoughtfully covered with a drop cloth to protect it from dust and chunks of old plaster—and peered into the space he had assigned to the powder room, which at the moment consisted of a lot of mismatched old boards and yet more holes, both old and new. “Hello in there?” she said loudly.

“Down here,” Seth called out from the basement below. “What do you think?”

“I'll reserve judgment for now. Your mom's here. We were going to get some lunch before she has to pick up the kids. You want anything?”

“I ate early. I want to push through on this and at least get the room framed in and the pipes in place. You go ahead.”

Lydia was already poking around in the refrigerator, looking for something edible. “I vote for grilled cheese, because it's the only thing you have all the ingredients for.”

“Sorry—the pickings are kind of slim for lunch, but I've been feeding the hordes all week. Tomorrow's grocery day. You want to make them, or shall I?”

“I can do it. Why don't you take another look at the fire report, now that we've heard what Jacob had to say?”

“Good idea.” As Lydia set a pan on the stove and started slicing cheese, Meg retrieved the file and brought it back to the kitchen table, wiping the dust away first. It seemed so slim. She read through it once, twice, and studied the simple diagrams. Then she decided she needed to consult with someone who knew something about building construction, since she had one on hand.

“Seth?” she called out through the gaps in the floor.

“Yo. You want something?” he replied.

“Yes. I need your construction expertise. It'll only take a minute.”

In response, Seth came tromping up the cellar stairs. “What's up? Hi, Mom.”

“We talked with the Eastmans' insurance agent this morning,” Meg told him. “I'll fill you in later, but one thing we discussed was how the fire might have started. He thinks—very unofficially—that Ken Eastman might have somehow set the fire himself for the insurance money. I know you don't know the house, but if you were going to set a destructive fire in a colonial house that had had electricity added a century or more later, not to mention a couple of changes in heating and plumbing systems, how would you do it?” She handed him the diagram from the fire report.

“Did Jacob talk about the wiring?”

“Yes—still a lot of old knob and tube. Probably a real mishmash with a lot of alterations.”

“So that's an obvious choice. Just short it out somewhere and wait.”

“But Ken Eastman waited too long. If he knew the fire was going to happen, why didn't he get out?”

“You told me the fire started in the basement, right?” Seth asked.

“Yes, in the furnace room, apparently, or near it. That's where Aaron had his little den, because nobody else ever went down there. If Dad had been there that night tinkering with the wiring, Aaron would have noticed, or Dad would have backed off and waited for another day. Aaron seemed to think that his father didn't know he hung out there.”

“Where was the water heater?” Seth asked.

“Uh, I don't know,” Meg told him. “Wouldn't it be near the furnace?”

“Not necessarily. Plus they probably were installed at different times. Could have been somewhere else in the basement. You have the plans for the rest of the house?”

“Here.” Meg handed him some additional sheets of paper, copies taken from the police and fire reports.

Seth spread them out on the table. “Okay, here's the furnace room in the basement.” He pointed. “The parents' bodies were found in their second-floor bedroom. Which happens to be directly above the furnace room.”

“Yes, but two stories away. So what?”

“The house had an oil furnace, which had replaced a coal furnace, which wasn't original to the house, which was built with fireplaces only, remember? Like yours. Which means that the heating ducts were added after the fact, probably in the later nineteenth century.”

“What's your point?” Lydia said, flipping sandwiches in a skillet.

“Any smoke or gas from a fire in the furnace room or that end of the basement—which was a small, enclosed space—would have risen right up the badly sealed flues to the bedroom. And the parents might not have noticed. Or if they were planning to torch the place, they might have
smelled smoke but were going to wait until the building was fully engulfed before exiting. Which only makes sense if the furnace room was not where they set the fire, because that would reach them too quickly right above. They hadn't counted on the fumes, which would have knocked them out.”

“Jacob mentioned that the fumes could be deadly. So that gives us a new theory. Aaron started the fire by accident and got himself out, then passed out. We assume he wasn't thinking straight, if he was thinking at all. The parents were either asleep and were overcome by the smoke, or they thought they had more time because Ken thought he knew when the fire was going to start. Only we'll never know because all the evidence was destroyed, except for some bits and pieces of Aaron's meth lab or whatever scattered around.”

“You know you've just claimed that there were two separate fires—Ken's and Aaron's—in the same part of the house, at the same time?” Seth said, his voice skeptical. “Isn't that a pretty huge coincidence?”

Lydia set a plate with the grilled sandwiches cut into halves on the table and sat down. “What if Aaron's fire was small and he thought he'd put it out, so he went outside to get some air? But the fire wasn't out, so it triggered Dad's little booby trap, and Dad wasn't expecting it then? He really was asleep, and then the fumes got to him?”

Seth sighed. “Ladies, I know you mean well and you're trying to help Aaron, but you're spinning this out well past ridiculous. I'll buy that Kenneth Eastman may have wanted to destroy his house, but I find it hard to believe that he would have wanted anyone to die, including himself. He could have rigged it for a time when no one was home. Well, maybe his mother-in-law, because it sounds like there was no love lost there.”

Meg slumped in her chair. “I know, you're right. But Dad
wasn't an arson expert or even an electrician. Maybe he messed up on the timing. Or maybe something Aaron did set it off too soon, when Dad wasn't expecting it. And there's no way to prove any of this.”

“Exactly,” Seth said. “Sorry, Meg.”

Lydia added, “At least we've increased the probability that the fire was an accident, and Aaron didn't mean to kill anyone. We can't fault the fire investigators, because if the fire started in the basement, there would have been nothing left to look at, apart from some fragments of Aaron's glassware or whatever. This fire happened in October, right?” When Meg nodded, she said, “So Dad would have known that the two older children were safely off at school, and he probably assumed Aaron would be in his room. Maybe he even checked, and Aaron sneaked out later. But Ken had no reason to think that Aaron was in the basement. And if Ken had reacted normally to the fire, he would have roused his wife and son and his mother-in-law and tried to get everyone out, wouldn't he? So we can deduce that he didn't react because he was already incapacitated by the fumes. Aaron was arrested and tried, the insurance company paid out, and that was the end of the story.”

“So why was Aaron convicted on such inconclusive evidence?” Seth demanded.

“Mainly because he got himself out,” Meg said quickly. “And he never showed any emotion during the trial. If he'd acted devastated, maybe the jury would have been more sympathetic. Plus the judge might have been biased, because she'd been part of Ken's investment scheme—something that never came out.”

Several moments passed until Seth said, “I think you've done all you can.” Then he changed the subject. “What's next for you?”

“We're going to see the baby,” Lydia said.

Lydia drove the two of them to Rachel's house in Amherst. “You're quiet,” she said to Meg.

“I'm angry,” Meg told her. “I'd like to throttle Jacob for never saying anything about any of this back then. Maybe there wasn't any proof, but his information might have introduced reasonable doubt. Or if the jury bought into the accident theory, Aaron might have gotten a shorter sentence. It's all wrong.”

“What are we going to tell Aaron?” Lydia asked.

“I don't know. I'm trying to avoid thinking about that conversation. Are we planning to stay long at Rachel's?”

“I'll see how it goes; it's up to her. Are you in a hurry?”

“No, not really. If I go home too soon, I'll just get in Seth's way, and I want him to finish his project quickly.”

“So that's his wedding present? Bathrooms?”

“It is. Unique, isn't it?”

“That it is. What are you planning to give him?”

“Besides me?” Meg smiled in spite of her grumpy mood. “Actually . . . you remember his friend Eric, who deals in architectural salvage out of a barn in Hadley?”

“The name sounds vaguely familiar. Why?”

“When we were at his place looking at plumbing fixtures, Eric mentioned that he'd just acquired a bunch of antique carpenter tools and equipment, and he wondered if Seth would like them. Seth passed, because I guess he didn't want to indulge a hobby, what with everything else that's going on. But I went back to tell Eric to set them aside for me. Everyone needs a few indulgences in their life, don't they?”

“That sounds perfect. If a bit hard to wrap. But then, so is a bathroom.” Lydia smiled. “Your parents will be arriving soon. Are you ready for them?”

“Heck, I don't know. I love my parents, but I don't have the time to entertain them at the moment. Not that I'm suggesting that you should! They're here to see me, but I've still got to figure out what's going on with this wedding stuff. At least they didn't show up in the middle of the harvest, like last time.”

“Your mom can help with the wedding part.”

“Maybe,” Meg said dubiously. “But there's really not much that needs to be done. And holding it in a restaurant with a university professor handling the vows is definitely outside her comfort zone. Plus, most of the decisions have been made. Sorry, I'm just whining. Too much happening right now.”

“I can set her to making Thanksgiving food. That'd keep her busy. Don't stress too much about it, Meg: it'll all work out.”

Meg hoped that Lydia was right. They joined a long line of waiting parents at the school that Chloe and Matthew attended, and once they had collected the two children and installed them in the car, seat belts fastened, Lydia headed
toward Rachel's house. “Are you looking forward to meeting your sister?” Lydia asked over her shoulder.

“I guess,” Chloe said, with little enthusiasm.

“I wanted it to be a boy,” Matthew muttered. “Now Dad and me, we'll be outnumbered.”

“You'll survive,” Lydia said. “And be nice to your mom—she's going to get tired a lot for a while.” She pulled into Rachel's driveway three minutes later. The kids piled out first and ran to the front door, which Rachel opened quickly. She grabbed up her children with one large hug, but then cautioned them. “Careful, loves—things are still a bit sore. Go on in; your dad's inside. Hi, Mom, Meg. Come meet her—I assume it's the baby you want to see, not me.”

“Rachel, you amaze me,” Meg said. “You had a baby yesterday. What are you doing home so soon?”

“I guess you haven't spent much time in hospitals—it's not like a hotel, and there's no way to get any rest. It was an easy delivery, and I know the ropes. I'd rather be here. Noah can help out for a couple of days, and Chloe's old enough to help, too. Get inside! It's chilly out there.”

In the front parlor, Rachel's usually tidy room was chaotic, with assorted blankets and piles of diapers and a very small cradle taking up the space. “Noah?” Rachel called out. “We've got company.”

Noah came into the room, drying his hands on a dish towel. “Hey, Lydia. Hi, Meg. You guys want some tea or something?”

“Don't worry about us,” Lydia said. “We just popped in to meet the baby.”

“She's asleep at the moment. But then, they're usually at their cutest when they're asleep, at least for a few years. Take a peek!” Rachel said.

Lydia and Meg tiptoed over to the cradle and looked down at the sleeping infant. She looked like . . . a very young baby. A bit scrunched up—but then, she was less than twenty-four hours old. Meg tried to remember the last time she'd seen a baby that young, and came up with . . . never. She was wearing a tiny knit cap, so Meg couldn't see her hair, but her hands were bare, with teeny-tiny fingernails. The baby flexed her fingers in her sleep, and Meg suddenly realized that she was looking at a person, not a thing. A human, who was going to go on to lead a whole life, and things would never be so simple again. At that moment, the baby opened her eyes, which turned out to be an almost slatey blue, and which looked preternaturally wise. She shut them again quickly.

Rachel came up to stand beside her. “Wow,” Meg said. “She's adorable.”

“She looks like a baby, Meg. All babies are adorable,” Rachel said, albeit fondly, looking down on her new daughter.

“What are you going to name her?” Lydia asked. “Have you decided?”

“We've decided on Margaret, but it'll probably be Maggie for short. Or Mags.”

Meg felt tears pricking behind her eyes. “I'm honored. That is, if there aren't seven other Margarets up your family tree?”

“Nope, you can take the blame. Although nobody has ever called you Maggie, right?”

“Maybe Meggie, but Maggie's good for her.”

“Well, there we go. You want to sit for a bit?”

“As long as you aren't exhausted,” Lydia said. “If you are, just say so and we'll go.”

Somehow they drifted toward the dining room and sat at the table there. “Not with all these great hormones perking. Of course, the downside is that I might burst into tears
at the drop of a hat. But it passes. So talk to me. What's new with your arson investigation?”

“Oh, right!” Meg had to shake herself to switch to a new subject. “Your noticing that the insurance agent was on the investors list was a big help. We talked to him this morning and learned some very interesting stuff.” Meg outlined the gist of the conversation, with a few prompts from Lydia.

Rachel appeared to be following, although every now and then her eyelids drooped. When Meg had wrapped up her explanation, Rachel roused herself to say, “So there really was something fishy going on?”

“It looks like it. But it seems a little late to do anything about it. If Kenneth Eastman did set that fire, something went terribly wrong, but there's no way to prove anything. I hope what crumbs of comfort we can give Aaron will help him.”

“He'll know you cared enough to try, and that's something,” Rachel said. “Listen, guys, I think it's time for my nap, so I'm going to throw you out. But come again!”

“Of course we will,” Lydia said warmly. “You take care of yourself, and let either of us know if you need anything.”

“Will do. Bye, you two. Great to see you.” Rachel bestowed hugs on each of them, and Meg could swear there were tears in her eyes.

Back on the road, Lydia said, “Where to now?”

“Home, I guess. If Seth's made as much progress as he hoped, he may need my help to wrestle fixtures. Or something. And I'm the designated tiler—something I've never done before.”

“Ah, it's easy,” Lydia said. “Take it from me. I used to help Seth's dad in a pinch, and I got pretty good at it. It's even simpler now than it was then. Give me a shout if you need help.”

“I will, believe me. I don't want to live with crooked lines
or lumps and bumps for the next however many years. I want to get it right.”

Lydia dropped Meg off at her back door, and Meg walked into the house feeling some trepidation. It was quiet: was that good or bad? She went through the kitchen, into the dining room, then turned right. “Behold, it's a room! A teeny-tiny room!” she crowed.

Seth emerged from the cellar stairs behind her. “That it is. With pipes and wiring. Once the inspector signs off on it, I can put up the walls. If you're very good, you might get a door sometime soon.”

“I am so excited!” Meg said. Seth just raised an eyebrow at her, so she amended her statement. “Great progress. I'm impressed. Have you moved on to the upstairs yet?”

“Sort of. I've framed in the closet and moved the door, and I've opened up the wall between what will be the two bathrooms. If you shower, it may be a bit drafty. How's the baby?”

“Small and babylike. I didn't see her awake, although she has amazing eyes, which she opened for about two seconds. Did Rachel tell you what she wants to call her?”

“No, we haven't had much time for chitchat lately. What?”

“Margaret, aka Maggie,” Meg said—and was once again surprised by how moved she felt by Rachel's choice of name.

“Nice. Did you come away wanting one of your own?”

“Not yet. But ask me again later. Can we get the wedding out of the way first?”

“That was the plan,” Seth replied. “The tile was delivered . . . Looks nice.”

“I got so overwhelmed by all the choices that I picked the simplest patterns that they had in stock. But I thought they went with the house.”

“I agree. There's nothing wrong with simple.”

“So when do I get to tile?” Meg asked, not sure whether she wanted to start sooner or later.

“Let me finish the rough-in upstairs. The timing may be tricky—you'll have to get the tiling done before we move the new old tub up there, and that's definitely a two-man job, so I'll need help.”

“I am not going to volunteer! And don't you try to handle it all by yourself, either. All we need is for one or the other of us to throw our back out before the wedding.”

“I hear you.”

“You about ready to quit for the day?”

“Just a couple more pipes,” Seth said. “Pizza for dinner?”

“Sounds good to me. I'll go pick it up.”

By six Seth had scrubbed off most of the plaster and other ancient dust, and he and Meg were seated at the kitchen table, where a large pizza occupied the center. “Where's Bree?” Seth asked, before digging in.

“Michael's, I think. If you're asking if we can eat this whole thing, the answer is yes.”

Seth grinned and helped himself to a couple of slices, and Meg followed suit. After finishing her first slice, Meg said, “I think we've gone about as far as we can go looking at this arson problem for Aaron. There's just not enough evidence to prove anything.”

“I think you've done a great job. Well, that is if Aaron doesn't mind hearing that his father was probably a con artist who cheated half the rich folk of Granford.”

“But the important point is that Dad may have had a hand in starting that fire, even though he ended up getting caught in it. That part still doesn't make sense to me. If he knew there was going to be a fire, why wasn't he able to get out?”

Seth finished his second slice and reached for another
before answering. “People make a lot of assumptions about fires, most of them wrong. Fact: if you have a smoke alarm and it goes off, you have two minutes to get out of the building. Don't stop to collect the family jewels or your photo albums, because then you won't get out at all.”

“That's depressing. Any more fun facts?” Meg asked.

“Yes. A very high percentage of fire deaths are caused by smoke inhalation. Not burns. But a lot of people take a look around and say to themselves,
Gee, it's not here yet
—
I've got plenty of time
. Not true. And that's the most likely scenario here. Ken Eastman didn't want to get out too soon—he wanted to make sure the house would be a total loss so he could collect the full insurance. But he waited too long, and he paid the price.”

“That's what Jacob said, too. But there's no way to prove it. How long does it take to die from smoke inhalation?”

“To inhale enough fumes to kill you? Or if the fumes are contaminated with something other than smoke? Could be as short as two minutes.”

“So it's possible that Dad set the fire then went back upstairs to wait for a bit, but he miscalculated. Could Aaron in the basement have come to, recognized that he was in danger, and made his way outside, and then realized that nobody else had made it out? And then passed out again?”

“Maybe. He could have been exposed to the same fumes, which would make him even woozier than whatever he had been smoking or sniffing before that. And that could have been long enough to kill the other family members. Fumes would spread fast in leaky old houses. In which case, there was nothing he could have done to save them.”